


The Reigning Monarch

by ofarrowsandspacemen



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Bartender AU, F/F, Multichapter, Royalty AU, Slow Burn, future smut, some fluff among it all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8670319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofarrowsandspacemen/pseuds/ofarrowsandspacemen
Summary: Laura Hollis was satisfied with her life of running a small English pub. But all of that changes when the future Queen of England starts frequenting her bar after closing. AKAPrincess Carmilla Karnstein and Barkeep Laura Hollis find out love doesn't care what class you were born into.





	1. In Mourning

**Author's Note:**

> YOOOOO welcome to a new story I've been working on and finally bit the bullet and posted it. First chapter isn't super long but the rest (shocker) will be longer. Gonna be a bit of a roller coaster but I'm excited to write it. Hope you guys like it, let me know!

 

 

 

The King passed on a Wednesday evening.

 

It was raining; the sky soft and gray, the streets damp as if already in mourning.

 

Laura had closed the pub. She knew she ought to keep it open, she could have made a fair amount from the mourners wanting to drink as they watched the news play out on her old TVs, but something inside her twisted uncomfortably at the thought.

 

She ushered out the few disgruntled patrons, comping their drinks and promising another free round their next visit. She locked the door behind a particularly annoyed older man, rolling her eyes as he mumbled complaints under his breath.

 

After, she poured herself a glass of dark liquor from a dusty bottle she kept perched on the highest shelf.

 

Rutherford's.

 

Old and expensive and, frankly, disgusting to Laura's palette. But it was commonly known it had been the King's drink of choice, when his serious wife had allowed him one. It was tradition for all pubs to keep a bottle of the stuff, as if the King would ever stop in for a drink.

 

Laura swirled the dark liquid in her glass, eyes flicking up to the muted old black and white TV she had mounted in the far corner of the room. 

 

They were playing footage of a cricket match earlier that year. The King was waving to the cameras, his body thinner than it had been for most of his life. Laura hadn't noticed it then, but now she could see it; see how gaunt he had become, how tired his eyes looked.

 

Maybe his death wasn't that much of a surprise after all.

 

The images changed, flashes of his wedding and the birth of his children; a famous clip where he had tripped disembarking a plane and was laughing at the bottom of the boarding stairs as the Queen glared down at him. Another of the prince and the princess riding bicycles around the palace grounds as the King watched on.

 

Laura took a slow sip of the whiskey, her chest burning as it slipped down her throat.

 

The TV flickered to darkness and then lit up again. A photograph was on the screen, posed and impressive and befitting of the royal family. It was the last formal photo of all of them before the King's death, according to the text that scrawled beneath the image.

 

King Richard. Queen Lilita. Prince William.

 

Princess Carmilla.

 

They were the same age, Laura thought briefly. Their birthdays were only a few days apart; her mother used to tell her all the decorations people put up for the princess were for Laura too. It used to delight her, thinking how close in age they were.

 

Now it felt heavy in her chest.

 

Twenty six.

 

Laura took another sip from her drink, the heat blooming in her chest at the liquor's burn.

 

Twenty six.

 

The new Queen of England was twenty six.

 

Laura shook her head, downing the rest of her whiskey. As she clicked off the TV with the worn remote, Laura wondered what new liquor she'd have to keep on hand in the King's whiskey's place of honor. She wondered if Princess Carmilla had a favorite drink.

 

Laura hoped she did; she was certain she was going to need one.

 

 

\---

 

 

Laura swiped the damp rag over the bar, her tired muscles doing the motion from memory. The rag dragged against something sticky, no doubt a spilled shot from some overzealous frat boy, and she spent the last of her energy scrubbing at it. She loved the pub, she would never say otherwise, but sometimes she wished she let other people close it down once in a while.

 

She couldn't though, not really. She'd put her bartenders on the schedule to, taught them how, and wandered to her apartment upstairs. But it was like fate wouldn't let her sleep unless she had her moment of solitude in the old, tired tavern. Even if someone had already done the cleaning, washed the glasses, and stacked the chairs, Laura would find herself wiping down the bar one more time in the dim light that poured out from the back kitchen.

 

She threw the now ruined rag over her shoulder, glancing at the clock. Three in the morning. Honestly, it wasn't the latest she'd been down there, but her tired legs were aching and she was ready to collapse into her very warm, oversized bed. Laura turned, checking the levels of the liquor bottles on display on the back wall of the bar, taking quick stock of how much was left and mental notes of what she needed to order. The familiar sound of the door opening hit her ears and she stifled the groan in her chest.

 

"Sorry, I'm closed." She offered, not bothering to look at her new customer.

 

"Are you sure you can't spare one drink?"

 

Laura laughed, the sound hollow and annoyed. She pulled the rag from her shoulder and flopped it down by the bottles before turning, shaking her head as she moved.

 

"Listen, I get it, everyone wants their minute alone but its three in the morning and I-"

 

Laura's words caught in her throat.

 

Standing before her, sinfully wrapped in leather and lace, was the future queen of England.

 

 

\---

 

 

"Please don't freak out." Carmilla said, holding her hands before her in surrender.

 

The girl laughed, her whole body both stiff and almost drunkenly loose.

 

"Freak out? Why would I freak out? Who would freak out? Me? What? Never. There's no, there's an absence really, of, um…freaking."

 

Carmilla held in the laugh that was bubbling in her chest. She hadn't laughed in years. No need to start now.

 

"Right." Carmilla said, sliding on to the closest stool. "I know it's very late, but I've had a rather bad week. Stay awake another ten minutes and get me a whiskey?"

 

The girl looked at her, emotions flickering across her face like images on an old movie screen. Wordlessly, she turned and reached for the highest bottle on the back shelf. Carmilla couldn't see what it was, but top shelf wasn't a bad place to start. The bartender carefully brushed dust off the cap and cracked it open.

 

"On the rocks?" The girl questioned, not turning back.

 

"Neat. Please." Carmilla answered as politely as she could. She wasn't very good at polite, but this girl was technically doing her a favor.

 

Suddenly, a glass was in front of her and the smell alone was enough to make Carmilla's throat tighten.

 

Rutherford's.

 

"Where did you get that?" She managed, her words low and rough.

 

The girl shrugged, placing the bottle back on the highest shelf.

 

"Was nearly illegal not to have it. I figured…well, you might like it. I can get you something else."

 

The bartender's hand was already reaching for the glass when Carmilla snatched the drink away.

 

"No, no. I…I didn't…that's not…" She couldn't think, she couldn't breath. The smell of the whiskey, the color, the weight of the glass in her hand. It was all so familiar, so him, and it made her ache.

 

Her father's favorite brand. Hidden right in the little pub Carmilla managed to sneak off to. She brought the liquor up to her nose and took a slow sniff. Her eyes watered, betraying her.

 

"He seemed like a good man." The girl offered, eyes downcast.

 

Carmilla nodded, unsure how to answer.

 

The girl's voice came again.

 

"My mother died. Six years ago."

 

The bartender was staring at Carmilla when she looked up. Carmilla felt her high walls crack a tiny, immeasurable amount.

 

"What's your name?" The words fell out of her mouth, her curiosity unstoppable.

 

The girl smiled, tossing the dirty rag over her shoulder with a sense of pride Carmilla was envious of.

 

"Laura."

 

Carmilla could feel her chest tighten; a long unfelt tension that lit up her veins and sent her ears pounding. She shook her head of it, sighing as she gestured to her whiskey.

 

"Laura. My name's Carmilla. How much do I owe you?"

 

 


	2. First Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Laura manages to throw the Princess off balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I did not expect such a super nice response to this, wow. You're all too kind and I wanna hug you all unless you don't like being hugged in which case we can yell at each other from a respectable distance. Thanks so much for checking this story out.
> 
> Alright, so this chapter isn't very long but I sort of see the first couple as kind of a prologue of sorts? So the longer bits are coming, but we gotta do a little set up first. Hope you don't mind. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

"Another round?"

 

Carmilla looked up, her mind swirling from the smell and taste of her father's favorite whiskey. The bartender was there again, fidgeting with a dirty rag and shifting back and forth on her feet. The girl had politely left well enough alone until now; she'd gone back to her cleaning once Carmilla had learned the price of her drink; free.

 

Of course it was, she was the Princess for God's sake.

 

No.

 

That was wrong now.

 

She wasn't the Princess.

 

She used to be.

 

Was.

 

Once.

 

A long time ago. But not long at all. 44 hours.

 

Carmilla glanced toward a shabby grandfather clock that rested crooked against the wall behind the bar.

 

3:57 A.M.

 

Nearly 45 hours now.

 

She was a princess 45 hours ago.

 

Now, she was a Queen.

 

"Um…your…your Highness?"

 

Carmilla's eyes snapped back to the girl at the word.

 

Your Highness.

 

She wouldn't be that much longer either.

 

There'd be another title there, soon. She grit her teeth, shoving the word away and burying it.

 

"No, one has been more than enough." Carmilla managed, her words low.

 

The bartender hummed, clearly uncomfortable under Carmilla's gaze but managing to maintain eye contact. She liked her, Carmilla decided. For no reason other than she hadn't asked her how she was feeling. Everyone wanted to know; how does it feel to be the new queen, did you know your father was sick, is your brother jealous? Carmilla wanted to throttle every person she had been in contact with for the past 45 hours.

 

Except the bartender.

 

Laura.

 

That was the girl's name.

 

"Are you always here this late?"

 

Carmilla voice was bored, her words condescending and judgmental. She felt the last word leave her lips and watched Laura's face scrunch up in distaste at her tone.

 

"You're lucky I am or you'd be down a drink." Laura snipped back, her hand clenching into a fist around the dirty rag.

 

Her voice was sharp, clearly offended.

 

Carmilla flinched at Laura's pointed voice. She didn't mean to sound unimpressed; it was a learned trait now, a force of habit from years of practice. Never sound interested or amused, as it will invite conversation and expectation of engagement. Never sound impressed or surprised, as it will encourage boasting and imply further interaction is wanted or desired. Carmilla could think of ten, fifteen, a hundred more rules she'd been taught, had taught herself, of how she was meant to exist.

 

Laura did not know any of those nevers.

 

Why would she?

 

Carmilla sighed, looking back to her drink.

 

The bartender had been kind. Laura had been kind. She did not deserve Carmilla's coldness. Carmilla grit her teeth and forced out her words.  

 

"I sincerely apologize for any rude implication, I did not mean to offend you. However, I apologize for doing so and ask you to forgive me for my error."

 

A moment of silence passed over them and then a warm laugh hit Carmilla's ears. Her gaze snapped up to Laura, the girl looking at her with an expression of disbelief and amusement.

 

"What the hell was that?" Laura asked, eyebrows raised and a laugh still on her breath.

 

Carmilla shook her head, bewildered. "I'm sorry, what are you…?"

 

"That formal apology. Do you rehearse those or is that actually what you sound like?"

 

Carmilla's body flooded with embarrassment at being called out, her chest heating and the warmth moving up her neck. She opened her mouth to argue, to explain away her nearly robotic response as something other than precise schooling and well learned etiquette, but the only words that came sputtering out of her mouth didn't help her.

 

"I'm the Princess."

 

Laura bit her bottom lip, trying to hide a smirk. Carmilla tried to keep her eyes from flicking down to her mouth but she couldn't; she watched Laura lean forward, arms against the bar, lip slipping from her teeth and pinking upon its release. Carmilla swallowed as Laura swiped her empty whiskey glass and moved to rinse it in a sink at the far end of the bar.

 

She ran it under the water as Carmilla sat flustered on her bar stool.

 

Carmilla shook her head, confused by what just happened, and hopped off her seat to quickly shrug on her leather jacket.

 

She marveled in the unfamiliar feeling. No one had been able to knock her off balance or catch her off guard in years, but this bartender had managed it. Twice.

 

The bartender.

 

Laura.

 

"Thank you for the drink, Laura." Carmilla mechanically said, giving her a curt nod before shuffling toward the door. She needed to get out of there before she managed to get thrown off again. Twice in one night was unsettling enough, she did not desire a third to ponder over.

 

 Her head was already too full; full of sorrow and fear and miles upon miles of anger. She did not need to add anything else to it.

 

Carmilla reached the door, her fingers grasping the cold iron handle, when she chanced a glance back toward the bar.

 

Laura was leaning against the back wall, arms crossed over her chest as the liquor bottles shone behind her. Rutherford's was perched above her right shoulder. She gave Carmilla a warm smile and a nod.

 

"Thank you for stopping by, your highness."

 

Carmilla felt her chest tighten at the word.

 

Your Highness.

 

Not for long.

 

Not anymore.

 

Without responding, Carmilla threw open the door and disappeared into the dark.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

Laura tossed onto her side, throwing her comforter over her head.

 

She was exhausted. Her body was aching from standing all day and her eyes were so itchy, she was debating just clawing them out.

 

But her brain, her good for nothing, overly loud, couldn't shut up if it was being held at knifepoint brain. It wouldn't turn off. It kept whirring and buzzing and replaying the same thing over and over.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein sitting in her pub.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein drinking a whiskey Laura had poured her.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein looking at her with dark, haunting eyes.

 

Laura groaned, flopping to her other side and shoving her face into her pillow. She screwed her eyes shut, took a deep breath, and tried to clear her mind. She focused on her breathing, in and out.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein blushing, her neck red with flush.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein saying her name, her voice low and rough as smoke.

 

In.

 

Out.

 

Princess Carmilla Karnstein looking back at her, one last time.

 

Laura opened her eyes, sitting up. She ran a hand through her messy hair, then swiped it down the front of her face as if clearing away cobwebs.

 

She was never going to see her again.

 

She just needed to forget the whole thing.

 

 

 

\---

 

 

 

Two nights later, when Laura heard a voice at three in the morning as she wiped down the bar, she didn't even have to look up to know who it was.

 

"How about that second drink?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we got our set up out of the way, THE FUN CAN BEGIN. 
> 
> Thank so much for reading this story, I'm really excited for it. Let me know what ya liked, what you disliked, what nightmares plague you, etc. in the comments or yell at me on tumblr. 
> 
> Thanks again so much for taking the time to check this out! Means a lot.


	3. Unlocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla tries to find her footing in her new role and Laura tries to pretend she isn't just waiting for Carmilla to show up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> Sorry for the delay, the holidays got the better of me. Got to meet my niece over Christmas though so I'm not THAT sorry. 
> 
> However, in honor of the new year please enjoy this new chapter. This is a slow burning one, my friends. Hope you stay with me for the ride. Thanks for checking this out and I hope you like it!

 

 

The second drink went down much like the first.

 

Quiet. Burning. Bitter.

 

Carmilla didn't even like whiskey.

 

_But it's your father's favorite drink._

 

That small voice inside her head, that ever chiming alarm that was constantly knocking at her skull, kept reminding her.

 

Your father.

 

Your father.

 

He's dead.

 

Her father was dead.

 

It hadn't been easy. He'd died slow. She thought about that, once he had passed. She'd been asleep when it happened. Just so, but asleep nonetheless.

 

She wondered what it would have been like if she had been there, if she had seen him go.

 

_Of course you weren't there._

 

Her mother wasn't either, but that didn't make her any less critical of Carmilla's absence.

 

She wasn't the new Queen.

 

She was the old one.

 

She was nothing now.

 

Her power was exhaled with her father's final breath.

 

Carmilla breathed in his place now.

 

And her mother no longer mattered.

 

Carmilla took the rest of her whiskey in one swallow. She glanced at the bartender, at Laura, before throwing a fifty on the bar and leaving without a word.

 

 

\--

 

 

"Stop breaking glasses, will you?" Laura shouted, shoving one of her more rowdy patrons out of her way as she aimed toward the kitchens with a tray full of dirty pints.

 

"Boss, we're gonna need you behind the bar, there's too many of them."

 

Wilson, one of the more heavy handed bartenders, was struggling to pass drinks down to Mel, who haphazardly slid them to their respective owners.

 

Laura nodded at him before backing into the kitchen door, readying to drop off her mucked glasses before heading back out into the fray.

 

As she slipped into the back, her old TVs flickered with the announcement of Princess Carmilla's coronation.

 

 

\--

 

 

"What do you mean you're delaying it?"

 

The words were harsher than she meant, than they should have been, but Carmilla couldn't contain it. Her rage was easily called upon these days and it burst through her skin like molten lava.

 

Prime Minster Vordenburg sighed, his hand tightening on his cane.

 

"Your majesty…"

 

"No," Carmilla snapped. "Not yet. Not until I am crowned. And yet you want to postpone it?"

 

Vordenburg hobbled to the nearest sofa, one too elegant to be comfortable or even to invite rest. He sank down onto it, his legs shaking with the effort.

 

"'Milla, I do not like doing this to you."

 

Carmilla felt her chest tighten at the nickname. She launched to her feet, fists tightening as she spoke.

 

"Do not address me so informally. Not anymore. I am not little 'Milla any longer. You speak to me as your Queen or you do not speak to me at all."

 

 A long silence engulfed them.

 

The room was filled with a stale stillness.

 

Carmilla suddenly realized how old Vordenburg was. He had been old when she was born. Yet here he was, holding on to the last dregs of power, wheezing on her furniture. She felt her fire soften.

 

He father had not been old, though at the end he had seemed like he was.

 

Vordenburg had wept at his funeral; he had shown more emotion than was befitting of a Prime Minster.

 

He was old. And he did not anticipate having to help her.

 

He shouldn't have.

 

Her father wasn't old.

 

Carmilla took a deep, slow breath. She held it low in her lungs, let it burn, burn just like her father's whiskey, and then released it.

 

She was a princess no longer.

 

Carmilla carefully sat back down, her hands folded in her lap and her feet delicately tucked to one side.

 

"How long do you wish to postpone?" She asked, tone even.

 

Vordenburg looked apologetic.

 

"Six months."

 

Carmilla felt her jaw tighten.

 

"Well then," She offered, "you better make good use of those six months in preparing me, Prime Minister."

 

Vordenburg's gave a small smile, but it didn't reach his tired eyes.

 

"Yes, your majesty." 

 

 

\--

 

 

"You need anything else, boss?"

 

Laura glanced up from her inventory sheets. It was past closing, nearing three thirty, and she was huddled in a back booth trying to find out if she could skip ordering for another week.

 

Wilson had just turned off the lights, save the back one in the kitchen, and was heading out the door.

 

Laura smiled at him, running a hand through her mused hair as she shook her head.

 

"You're good. Have a good night."

 

He nodded at her before ducking outside, Laura catching the light sounds of rain pattering as he opened the door. He turned back to flip the lock, pulling the door shut after he'd done so, and Laura's heart leapt into her throat.

 

"Wilson, wait!"

 

He popped back into the pub, his eyes wide in surprise.

 

"Yeah, boss?"

 

She didn't know what she was doing.

 

She was being foolish.

 

She couldn't help it.

 

"You don't have to lock up. I'll do it."

 

Wilson's brow furrowed, his eyes flicking from the latch back to Laura.

 

"Not even the handle, boss?"

 

Laura could feel her neck reddening.

 

"No, just…You can leave it unlocked for now."

 

Wilson stared at her a long moment, his eyes searching for something. Laura secretly begged him not to press, not to push at this one foolish thing.

 

Do not let him know about her.

 

Her.

 

The Queen.

 

Wilson seemed to find whatever he was searching for, giving Laura a curt nod, and slipped out the door without another word. Laura felt her body relax, her chest loosening as if she'd been holding her breath.

 

A look at the clock.

 

Nearly four now.

 

It was too late. She wouldn't be coming.

 

Probably wouldn’t ever again.

 

But may as well leave the door unlocked, Laura thought.

 

Just in case.

 

She glanced down at her books one more time, the numbers swimming in front of her vision. Another look wouldn't hurt, even if it was late. Maybe if she postponed ordering one more week. Maybe if she just ordered beer. She could run a special, she could push the old liquors in a two for one deal and then lower the beer prices…

 

Laura sighed.

 

She let her gaze flick up to the door.

 

She wasn't coming. What was she doing? She wasn't going to come back. It had been a two time thing, just a woman in mourning of her father. She was the god damn Queen. She couldn't sneeze without someone reporting on it, there was no chance in hell she'd be able to sneak to a rundown pub ever again.

 

Laura kept her eyes on the door for a moment.

 

Then another.

 

And another.

 

She slammed her inventory records shut, ducking out of the booth as swiftly as she could. She was just being a silly child. So she came back once. It didn't mean anything.

 

Laura swiped up her papers and marched to the door. She slammed the lock into place and headed for the back kitchen. In a few minutes, she had locked up shop and was safely tucked in her apartment upstairs.

 

She mechanically got ready for bed, her body going through the motions of prep but her mind was elsewhere.

 

Her mind was still thinking about the locked door a floor below her.

 

And as Laura slipped into bed, her head still whirring with impossible maybes, she felt her chest fill with another childish feeling.

 

Hope.

 

 

\--

 

 

_I'm going to get robbed._

 

Laura ignored the thought as she unlatched the pub door.

 

 

\--

 

 

"I will not listen to you any longer."

 

Carmilla grabbed her jacket which had been carefully hung on a coat rack in the corner of her mother's library. She yanked too forcefully and brought the whole thing down, the antique wood smashing into the marbled floor with a thunderous crash.

 

"'Milla, you will listen to me. I am your mother, the Queen, and I-"

 

Carmilla whirled around at that, her jacket forgotten.

 

"You're not."

 

Lilita had the decency to look startled, though Carmilla knew it was less surprise and more annoyance.

 

"You are _not_ the Queen. Not anymore. It was never yours, not really. So I don't have to listen to you. I never did. I understand why Parliament wants a postponement, I understand I am young and unprepared, but I will not stand to have my own mother undermine me."

 

Lilita carefully adjusted the hem of her sleeve, her demeanor seemingly unruffled.

 

"You have not been crowned yet, my daughter. You'd do well to remember where the power rests as of this moment."

 

Carmilla wrenched her jacket from the floor, causing the wooden rack to scrap loudly against the marble. She tugged it on and glared at her mother.

 

"And you'd do well to remember we don't actually have any power."

 

Carmilla spit the words, anger snapping in her chest like a feral dog. She turned her back on her mother, storming out of the room without another thought for the gluttonous woman behind her.

 

 

\--

 

 

Laura slipped on the biggest sleep shirt she could find. The pub had been dead all day, completely empty come night fall, and she'd closed up a few hours early. No sense in wasting money on electricity when no one was bothering to come in.

 

She wandered into her small kitchen and grabbed her chipped TARDIS mug from the closest cabinet. She was sifting around her tea tin, deciding if she could handle another cup of caffeine so late, when she heard it; the distinct, sharp shatter of glass.

 

Laura froze.

 

She'd left the pub unlocked.

 

Someone was in her pub downstairs.

 

And they were breaking things.

 

Heart in her throat, Laura shoved on the first pair of shoes she could find and grabbed a dirty frying pan from her sink. She tiptoed out of her apartment, a difficult task in the clunky rain boots she'd thrown on, and slowly descended the stairs that lead down to the kitchen.

 

She'd left the back light on, she always did, and it sent a warm glow out into the heart of the pub. Carefully, she slunk to door separating the two areas, her grip tightening on the pan's cold metal handle.

 

Laura took a steadying breath, one that made her realize her hands were shaking, shut her eyes, and then burst through the door into the pub. Pan raised over her head, Laura was prepared to concuss anyone who might be rooting around in her bar.

 

Another crash came, more glass breaking, and Laura blindly swung the pan as hard as she could. She collided with something and then was rewarded by a pained yelled, followed by some groaned cursing.

 

"Fuck, I think you broke my hand."

 

Laura slowly opened her eyes, one at a time, and then found the source of the ruckus.

 

Leaning against her bar with a broken bottle of gin at her feet and a wounded hand cradled against her stomach, stood Carmilla Karnstein, Princess of England.

 

Laura couldn't help it; she laughed.

 

She'd just smashed the future Queen of England with a dirty frying pan.

 

Another chuckle bubbled out of her but was cut off when she noticed the princess's glare. Her eyes were watery as though she was fighting tears and it was then Laura remembered; her hand. She'd cracked her sovereign's knuckles with a cast iron skillet.  

 

She had just _assaulted the Queen of_ _England_ and then she _laughed_.

 

Was that treason?

 

Laura shook the terrifying thought from her mind, placing the pan down on the edge of the bar. She took a step closer to the princess, mindful to place her boots around the spilled liquor and smashed glass.

 

"Let me see."

 

Carmilla seemed wary to give her hand over, not that Laura could blame her, but Laura stood patiently until the girl finally acquiesced. Slowly she uncovered her damaged knuckles and extended her arm out.

 

Laura gently took her hand in her own, thumb brushing against swelling skin. She ran her index finger down each of the princess's own, trying to ignore the quiet hissing that the princess made every time she applied pressure over the third and fourth knuckle.

 

She also tried to ignore how small the princess's hands were, how soft her skin was despite the rapidly forming bruising. Laura flipped Carmilla's hand over and traced the inside of her palm, sliding up each finger to feel for damage. She reached a long scar that ran ragged over the length of Carmilla's pinky. Absentmindedly, she let her finger trail up it before shaking herself out of her daze.

 

Laura looked up, eyes catching the princess's.

 

Carmilla was already staring at her, her eyelashes still damp from the shocked tears she had held in from before. There was something behind her eyes, something Laura couldn't name but could tell hurt, and it made Laura loathe to tear her gaze away. It made her chest ache. After a moment she took a step back, dropping the princess's hand.

 

"Nothing broken, you big cry baby."

 

She meant the words in jest, but they came out soft and low. Carmilla's eyes hadn't left her own and the sorry excuse at humor seemed to tighten the atmosphere around them. It was too intense and it made Laura uncomfortable. She cleared her throat, giving a halfhearted laugh in attempt to break the tension. Carmilla stared at her a moment and Laura could feel sweat pulse across her body.

 

After a blistering silence, Carmilla lifted her hand.

 

"Would it be too much ask for some ice?"

 

Laura snapped out of her daze at that, her adrenaline spiking.

 

"Right. Yes. Ice. Of course. And…and a drink! I'll…I'll get you ice and then a drink, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to hit you. I, well, actually I _did_ mean to hit you since you _broke in_ and all, but I didn't mean to hit _you_ , you know? Because that's probably like treason or something, to hit you on purpose and…I'll…I'll get you that ice."

 

Laura could feel the words rushing out of her mouth without her permission, spilling all over the floor like the gin that came bursting out of the broken bottle. The princess just nodded, her dark eyes still far away and elsewhere, and Laura scuttle into the back kitchen with a red neck.

 

 

\--

 

 

"I don't actually like whiskey."

 

Carmilla stared into her third glass of Rutherford's. She could feel the alcohol swimming in her veins, warming her and loosening her and making her speak when she knew she shouldn't. The words fell out of her mouth like pennies, dropping into the silence with pings and clatters that were too loud.

 

She took another swallow.

 

Laura was across the room at a far booth, working over some sheets. Carmilla didn't know what she was doing, aside from perhaps watching to ensure Carmilla didn't break any more of her product while she drank in solitude.

 

After she'd fetched ice and a soft towel to wrap around Carmilla's knuckles, she'd tucked herself away and let Carmilla be. It was appreciated. Carmilla enjoyed being alone, a privilege she did not often have.

 

But she was three glasses of stiff drink in and her mouth wouldn't stop.

 

"Whiskey is bitter. It burns. Nothing softens it. You can add and add and add but you'll never erase it, not completely. It is always, always there. Burning. Just at the back of your throat. Even when you think it won't, it does."

 

Another swig.

 

"I say it's my favorite drink if ever someone asks because it's my father's favorite. Was. Was his favorite."

 

She was drunk, she realized.

 

She was drunk and her father was dead.

 

She downed the last of the dark liquor.

 

"What do you like then, if not whiskey?"

 

Laura's voice came softly from the other side of the room. Carmilla turned to look at her, her head swirling. She tried to keep her eyes focused, her voice clear.

 

She was drunk.

 

"Gin."

 

Laura raised an eyebrow. "Not a typical choice."

 

Carmilla fought the smirk that wanted to slip across her lips. She turned back to look at her empty glass.

 

"Drank it in uni. Makes me nostalgic, I suppose."

 

Laura's voice came again.

 

"You ever had an Aviation?"

 

Carmilla's expression blanked, her eyebrows furrowing before she shook her head as if the clear away a fog. She turned her gaze back to Laura, shaking her head.

 

Without a word, Laura rose from her booth and headed behind the bar. She pulled a bottle of gin from one of the lower shelves, another few bottles that Carmilla couldn't identify, and then set to work. Methodically, she measured her ingredients. There was a practiced ease in her movements, yet a sharp confidence that Carmilla could feel. Laura had clearly been doing this work for years.

 

Carmilla felt jealous of her comfort in it.

 

She was drunk.

 

A few shakes over ice later, Laura slid a foggy blue cocktail in front of her.

 

"An Aviation." She supplied, leaning against the bar.

 

Carmilla glanced back and forth between the drink and the bartender. She could feel the alcohol in her system making her muscles loose and her blinking slow. Tentatively, she reached for the glass with her unbruised hand.

 

She took a sip, letting the flavor rest on her tongue, all the while keenly aware of Laura's gaze on her.

 

It was floral and sharp with a hint of sweetness. There was lemon and cherries and something Carmilla couldn't quite place; a mystery flavor that immediately made her take another sip to try and name it.

 

Laura was smiling when Carmilla set the glass down.

 

"You like?"

 

Carmilla nodded, her head sloshing too intensely at the motion. Her grip tightened on her drink to try and steady herself.

 

"I've never heard of this drink."

 

The words were hard.

 

She was drunk.

 

Laura didn't seem to notice.

 

"It's old. American. Not many people drink it these days."

 

"Shame." Carmilla offered and Laura hummed in agreement.

 

_It's lovely,_ Carmilla thought. _You're lovely._

She was too drunk.

 

"I should go. Thank you for the drinks. I apologize for startling you earlier, and for breaking some of your things. I'll pay you for them next time."

 

Laura shrugged, swatting her hand through the air as if pushing the issue away.

 

"Don't worry about it. You'd be surprised how often I break things just by-"

 

She stopped short, eyes wide, and Carmilla felt panic sear through her at the sudden silence.

 

"Did you…you said…next time?" Laura's voice was cautious, unsure.

 

Carmilla felt her chest heat up. She hadn't even realized she'd said next time. She was drunk, too drunk. She should never come back here. She couldn't. She'd already shown too much, said too much. She had to tell Laura there would be no next time.

 

"If you don't mind," was what she said instead.

 

 

\--

 

 

Laura threw herself down on her couch, muscles exhausted from another raucous Friday of bartending. She flicked on her TV, attempting to unwind from all the shot pouring, underage policing, and rebuffing of leering men. She threw her arm over eyes, letting the repeat of the evening news chatter softly to her.

 

They were on some story about Tube construction and Laura thanked the cosmos for granting her an apartment above where she worked. She let the monotone voices lull her into relaxation, her body going heavy with sleep even after a few moments.

 

Across the bottom of the screen scrolled the major news of the day.

 

**_Coronation Postponed: Six Months Until Princess Carmilla to be Crowned_ **

Below, Laura had left the pub door unlocked.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! 
> 
> I'm excited and nervous for this story. You guys have been really freakin' lovely about it and it's honestly too much. All of deserve a bunch of pies. Unless you don't like pie. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	4. Count to Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura struggle to handle their responsibilities, while still not quite understanding how to handle each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO. A new chapter is here, sorry for the delay. I'm shit at having some sense of normal updating. I appreciate you all coming back to read it when I finally get off my lazybones and update. 
> 
> Hope you cool cats enjoy!

 

 

 

Carmilla didn't remember the funeral.

 

Her body had been there, she'd moved and gone through the motions and said the right things, but her mind had blanked it. Self preservation, she would think later.

 

In the moment, Carmilla was overly aware of her wrists.

 

She'd been clad in a black dress, tight and lacy and completely not her. The long sleeves had pinched around her wrists, a centimeter too tight, and she couldn't stop tugging at them. She would pull at the fabric, attempting to slip a finger between her skin and the tight black edge, and instead she'd just feel her frantic pulse fluttering against her finger tips.

 

"Drink?"

 

William had a flask, his eyes glazed over revealing he was already in his cups.

 

Carmilla didn't know what to say, how to react to him in a venue such as this. They were marching behind their father's casket, a long procession to Westminster Abbey where the funeral would be held, and thousands upon thousands of mourners had eyes on them.

 

"My sleeves," was all Carmilla managed to say, voice cracking as her fingers twisted against the lace.

 

William took a swig and thrust the shiny silver flask at his sister.

 

"Knock some back, 'Milla. Father's not here to scold us anymore." He laughed, his breath hot with whiskey.

 

Carmilla's fingers clenched against the seam along her sleeve, snapping the threads and finally loosening it against her right wrist. She snatched the flask from William and threw it behind her as she walked.

 

Bulbs flashed, paparazzi and cell phones and long lenses capturing every moment. Carmilla kept walking, listening as the metal flask skittered against the pavement behind her. Ahead, her father's casket was silent. Beside her, her brother began swearing.

 

Her sleeves were still too tight.

 

 

\--

 

 

Laura had debated not going. She knew it would be crowded and tense and impossible to see.

 

But she'd gone.

 

She couldn't just sit at home and watch it on her TV. She needed to be there.

 

She ignored the part of her mind that whispered _'for Carmilla'._

 

But she knew that was the factor that lead her to be sandwiched outside Westminster Abbey, awaiting the funeral cortege.

 

It was drizzling; of course it was. Everyone was damp and quiet. Laura had been there for three hours when she heard it, the rustle through the crowd, the signal that the procession was close. For unknown reasons, Laura felt her heart leap to her throat.

 

She tried to swallow past the lump but then they were there; the royal family marching stoically behind their King father's coffin.

 

Laura tried to take stock of the other members of Carmilla's family, to see how her mother and brother were handling things but her heart wasn't in it. Instantly, her eyes fell to the Queen of England.

 

She was walking as if a woman preparing to be hanged. She was methodical and seasoned and robotic. It made Laura uncomfortable. It didn't seem like the woman she'd come to briefly know. The contrasts to the woman that sometimes popped up in the dead of night at her bar and the practiced lady before her were too many to name.

 

Laura wanted to run into the procession and stop the Queen's hands from fidgeting with her sleeves.

 

It was that thought that made Laura zip up her jacket and leave the crowd. She cut through the throngs of people, zigzagging until she was free of the hubbub.

 

Laura's heart was pounding in her throat. She wanted to be there; in some way, she wanted to be there to support Carmilla.

 

She knew that.

 

She also knew it was foolish.

 

As she heard the beginning hymns come from Westminster, Laura picked up her pace.

 

She was not friends with the Queen of England.

 

She needed to remember that.

 

 

\--

 

 

"This is completely unacceptable."

 

Carmilla's jaw tightened as a tabloid was thrown down on the desk in front of her.

 

The cover was a picture of Carmilla tossing a flask behind her while staring at her father's casket, William looking shocked and horrified as she did so. Carmilla tried not to wince at the headline.

 

**_Royal Lush: Queen Carmilla Drinks Her Sorrows Away_ **

****

She looked up to her mother, raising an eyebrow.

 

"What were you thinking?" Lilita scoffed, moving to sit behind the large mahogany desk. "I don't know why I bother with you, it's clear you do not understand or value the reputation of this family or of this kingdom."

 

The anger was bubbling up, Carmilla could feel it hot and bitter in the back of her throat. She wanted to scream; it wasn't her flask, why wasn't she yelling at William, who cares what they think of her, she's just a set piece. All the thoughts swam furious and vicious through her mind, sharp and hot and poisonous. Lilita eyed her, waiting for a response.

 

Waiting for an explosion.

 

Carmilla swallowed and counted to five in her head.

 

A technique the Prime Minster has suggested after one of their latest meetings.

 

_"You're so much like your father, your majesty. He benefited from a moment of silence before speaking."_

 

He was old and doddering and sometimes forgot where he left his cane, but Carmilla took in a breath and counted in her mind.

 

One.

 

Carmilla's pulse spiked furious in her veins.

Two.

 

Her palms itched, sweaty and desperate to throw the tabloid across the room.

Three.

Carmilla closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing and ignoring the heat searing down her neck that was making her shirt stick to her back.

Four.

 

Laura's face popped into her mind, eyes bright and proud as she presented Carmilla with that hazy blue cocktail from a few nights ago.

 

That was…unexpected.

 

Though not unpleasant.

 

Carmilla shook the curious image, her lungs tight.

Five.

 

The anger was still there, pounding in her head.

 

But it was her's now.

 

Just like the crown.

 

And it was her's to do with as she pleased.

 

Carmilla opened her eyes and delicately folded her hands together in her lap. She looked to Lilita.

 

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention. I will see to it all alcohol is removed from William's possession and is instructed not to be offered to him at public events. I will also abstain at public appearances until further notice."

 

Carmilla rose to her feet, carefully picking up the tabloid and examining it.

 

"I'm sure you'll find and disembowel the paparazzo that captured this, but I'd suggest," Carmilla caught herself and steeled.

 

It was _her_ crown.

 

"You _will_ ignore any further action on this issue."

 

Carmilla tossed the magazine across the desk to her mother, arguably with a little too much force. It skittered across the oiled wood and smacked Lilita in the chest. Carmilla leaned against the desk, her pulse still thrumming at a frantic pace.

 

"You will also find your things have been moved back to your quarters. I know how far your rooms are from here."

 

Lilita's jaw fell open and Carmilla had to bite her tongue before she could continue.

 

Vordenburg's earlier words steadied her.

 

_"Your mother is a powerful woman. You can do with her as you see fit. But you have power, too."_

 

Carmilla walked around the desk, gently pulling the chair out and forcing Lilita to stand up. She shuffled, stunned, to the side.

 

Carmilla took a breath, settling behind the desk. She folded her hands across the top, squaring her shoulders as she looked up at Lilita.

 

"Anything else?" Carmilla said, voice steady and even.

 

Lilita shook her head, hands wringing around the cheap magazine bearing Carmilla's tarnished headline.

 

"No." She finally answered, when it became clear Carmilla was waiting for a verbal response.

 

Carmilla leaned back in her chair, reaching for a side drawer and pulling out a stack of papers she was to read through. She began leafing through the pile, pulling out ones she thought more urgent to study up on.

 

Lilita still stood before her, fuming.

 

Carmilla glanced up briefly before returning to her papers.

 

"You're dismissed."

 

Later, when Carmilla was alone, she'd take great pleasure in how red her mother's face turned.

 

 

\--

 

 

"No, no, no, no…" Laura tapped her pen against the bar, her other hand plugging numbers into an old calculator. No matter how she added it up, it was always the same thing.

 

She was in the red.

 

How could that be? It was impossible. They had so much business, she had regulars; sure, there were slow days. And maybe some slow nights. But the weekends were usually busy, Fridays she could barely keep her arms moving fast enough to pour all the shots that were ordered, how the hell could she be _losing_ money?

 

She could hear her father's voice in her head.

 

_Pubs are risky, Laura. You won't last, Laura. Why won't you see reason, Laura?_

It was all in concern, Laura knew. Her father loved her and she loved him, but his words still rung belittling and doubtful in her head.

 

She'd always been seen as "little Laura" who needed to be protected, who needed to be saved.

 

She could not, would not, feel like that ever again.

 

But there the numbers were.

 

She was in the red. She was losing money, fast, and she didn't know how to stop it.

 

"Bad time?"

 

Laura jumped, her left hand knocking her calculator to the floor in surprise and her right sending her papers fluttering around her feet. She looked up, her already panicked breath stalling as she saw Carmilla standing by the pub door.

 

"Oh um…no, just…I'm sorry, you just uh, just startled me is all." Laura swiftly tried to pick up her now scattered budget sheets, tossing the calculator up onto the bar. She popped up again, attempting to steady her rapid heartbeat.

 

Carmilla had come closer to the bar, hands tucked into the pockets of her leather jacket. Laura tried to slow her pulse and steady her breathing, but Carmilla was looking at her so intensely; her dark eyes sad and a little tired, her shoulders hunched as if she was trying to make herself smaller, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders.

 

It should have been illegal to look like that.

 

Laura shook her head, running a hand through her hair and wishing she'd bothered to comb it.

 

"Need a drink?" She finally asked, her voice higher than she meant.

 

Carmilla wandered to the bar and leaned against the old wood.

 

"Looks like you need one more than I do." Carmilla nodded to the messy stack of papers.

 

Laura could feel the blush work up her neck. She snatched all the papers up and shoved them below the bar, on top of a stack of pint glasses.

 

"That's…that's…"

 

Carmilla settled in across from her, eyebrows raised.

 

Laura tried to fight her urge to spill everything. This was the _Queen of England_. She didn't want to listen to Laura complain. She wasn't sure she wanted Laura to speak to her at all. But the words came anyway, as they always did.

 

"Money trouble." She settled, dropping her head to thud against the bar. "And I know you're the freaking Queen of England so that's probably not something you totally, you know, _get_ but let me just tell you that it's honestly the worst thing in the entire world."

 

Laura shot up, her words catching up with her brain.

 

"No! Not…Not as bad as your dad dying. I didn't mean…I'm not saying…I shouldn't have…"

 

Laura could hear her blood rushing in her ears, her blush now working it's way up from her neck into her cheeks.

 

She didn't know how she was going to recover from that one.

 

She was really racking up offenses against her sovereign.

 

Then, as if reading her mind, Carmilla's hand fell to rest against Laura's forearm.

 

Laura swallowed at the contact, ignoring how steadying and warm her palm was. Instead, she forced her gaze to meet Carmilla's.

 

The Queen seemed more open than any other time Laura had seen her. Something was different, but Laura couldn't say what. Before she could dwell on it, Carmilla was pulling away and moving.

 

Laura watched as she slipped off her jacket, revealing a shirt that may as well have been see through. Laura tried to keep her eyes from lingering over the muscle of her stomach but Carmilla was reaching up to a shelf behind the bar and Laura couldn't help her gaze from flicking all over her.

 

Honestly, she was a lesbian, how was she supposed to just ignore _that_?

 

Carmilla plucked a dusty bottle from the back wall and sidled up next to Laura. She shoved the bottle in her direction.

 

"This had the most dust on it so I figure it will be the least missed."

 

Laura swiped her thumb against the label and groaned; cherry flavored brandy.

 

Carmilla was suddenly next to her again with two shot glasses. She placed them down in front of Laura.

 

"What do you say we both just don't say anything and shoot some of this horrible stock you have?"

 

Laura looked at her.

 

She was so loose, so much freer than the ridged woman Laura had interacted with before. She remembered how Carmilla's hands had fidgeted with her sleeves during her father's funeral. She remembered how much that had made her own chest ache, to see a woman so pressured and wound that she could barely move. Laura wasn't sure what caused the shift, but she didn't mind it.

 

In fact, she really, really liked it.

 

Without another word, Laura cracked opened the old brandy and poured out two shots.

 

 

\--

 

 

To say Carmilla had never done heavy lifting was an understatement.

 

But when it came to carrying nearly unconscious women upstairs to their apartments, Carmilla was uniquely unqualified.

 

Carmilla had had one relationship in her life and never once did she even attempt to pick her up.

 

She was the damn Princess of England.

 

She wasn't going to do that.

 

Yet, now she was the Queen of England.

 

And now, she was carrying an almost asleep bartender to her bed.

 

"You're so nice, you shouldn't have to do this." Laura slurred, her head lolling back and falling against Carmilla's shoulder.

 

Carmilla nodded, her arms hooked under Laura's. She let the girl lean back against her as she attempted to walk up the stairs.

 

"Got that right." She murmured.

 

Laura hummed in response stumbling on one of the steps and forcing Carmilla to grab onto the handrail to keep the pair from tumbling down the flight.

 

"I can't believe I'm going to die trying to put you to bed."

 

Laura shook her head, a pout forming on her lips as Carmilla finally maneuvered them to the door to Laura's apartment. She reached out and turned; the handle was unlocked. Carmilla rolled her eyes at the idiocy of that but shelved the worry as Laura darted from her arms and stumbled into the small living room.

 

Carmilla lunged forward, catching Laura around the middle just as she was about to crash to the floor.

 

Laura seemed to sober slightly at that.

 

The two clung together, faces brushing against one another, as Carmilla held Laura from tipping backwards. Carmilla's heart kicked up at the closeness, her arms wrapped low around Laura's waist. The girl clung to her, Laura's hands fisted in Carmilla's thin shirt.

 

If they pulled back, their noses would be touching.

 

The thought sent thunder crashing through Carmilla's chest.

 

She didn't know what was happening to her.

 

It had to be the brandy.

 

Though she wasn't sure she could blame the brandy for how warm Laura's body felt against her own.

 

No, she'd blame the brandy for that too.

 

Carefully, Carmilla righted herself and Laura. Maybe upright would be less intoxicating, less inviting, less dangerous. It had to be.

 

Yet the air in the room seemed to stiffen once they were no longer in danger of falling.

 

If only that were true.

 

"I might be a little drunk." Laura breathed, her words low and hot against Carmilla's ear.

 

"You _are_ drunk." Carmilla answered, thrown by how shaken she sounded.

 

She could feel Laura nod against her as her hands released their grip on her shirt. Carmilla's arms were still firmly around Laura's middle as Laura's slid to rest upon Carmilla's shoulders. Her palms were warm, her fingers gently rubbing against the fabric of her shirt.

 

"I normally don't drink."

 

Carmilla felt a smile tug at her lips before she banished it.

 

"I can tell."

 

Carmilla's heart was loose, ricocheting all around her chest.

 

She needed to leave.

 

Slowly, carefully, Carmilla pulled away.

 

Laura did the same, still wobbly on her feet but managing to keep her balance as she let her hands slide down Carmilla's arms.

 

There was space between them but Carmilla felt more pull now that she could see Laura's face.

 

She was flushed, lips and cheeks pink. Her eyes were amber and mischief, a deadly mix that was hard to look at. Laura's hands were still on Carmilla, resting on her forearms, and her palms were hot against her skin.

 

Whatever was happening, whatever this was, it wasn't good.

 

Of that, Carmilla was sure.

 

"Can you make it to bed?"

 

Laura gave her a lazy nod, her eyes hooded and warm, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.

 

Carmilla's throat tightened at the action, her breath picking up.

 

She swallowed, closing her eyes.

 

One.

 

She took a step back, letting her arms drop from Laura. She teetered on her heels but Laura managed to stay upright.

 

Two.

 

Laura nodded, giving her a soft smile and laughing as she spoke.

 

"Thank you, your majesty."

 

Three.

 

Carmilla turned to the door, Laura's shuffling footsteps causing her to glance behind her.

 

Four.

 

"You'll be back won't you? Or did I ruin this?" Laura's hand flashed out to lean against her couch. Carmilla to keep her body from running back to steady her.

 

Five.

 

"Goodnight, Laura."

 

Carmilla moved to close the door behind her.

 

She could not come back.

 

She should not come back.

 

Laura was not someone she should come back to.

 

Just as the door was closing, Carmilla felt it yanked out of her hand as Laura threw it open.

 

Carmilla found herself spun around and shoved up against the wall, Laura's damp lips capturing hers in a messy kiss. Carmilla couldn't pretend she hadn't been thinking it, hadn't been wondering since they met if the stirring in her chest meant she wanted to do this. But as Laura's hands slid into her hair, she couldn't help herself.

 

She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to kiss her so badly.

 

Carmilla pressed forward, surging to meet Laura's eager mouth with her own. It was sloppy and hot and Carmilla's hands couldn't keep still as they slid over Laura's curves. Laura moaned as Carmilla's hands found themselves in her back pockets, squeezing and pulling her closer. The sound was driving Carmilla up a wall. It was low and desperate and Carmilla could feel it in the pit of her stomach every time Laura whimpered.

 

Then, just as soon as it had begun, Laura pulled back.

 

Carmilla stared at her, half a mind to drag her against her again, when Laura gave her a wobbly smile.

 

"In case I never see you again. I just…wanted to know."

 

She stumbled into her apartment and then the door was shut.

 

Carmilla was left panting in the back stairwell of a pub, heart pounding and mind spinning.

 

She could not come back here.

 

She could never come back here.

 

She could never see Laura again.

 

Carmilla vowed she would never return.

 

 

\--

 

 

Laura woke to a throbbing headache. She was curled in a ball on her bathroom floor, her arms clinging to the base of the toilet.

 

She hadn't been this hungover in years.

 

She'd also never gotten drunk with the Queen of England.

 

 _The Queen of_ _England_ _._

What had happened?

 

Laura slowly sat up, her ears ringing and her mouth stale with the taste of vomit.

 

She couldn't remember.

 

Carmilla had shown up.

 

They started drinking.

 

The memory of the cherry brandy caused Laura to dry heave into the toilet a few times.

 

As she caught her breath, she tried to remember more, but it was all a haze of shots and darkness and puke.

 

She didn't remember anything.

 

Another wave of nausea hit and Laura chose not to worry as she continued to get sick.

 

 

\--

 

 

It was two days later when Laura dropped a full pint of beer in the middle of her pub.

 

The few patrons had all stared at her, Wilson coming over to immediately help her pick up the glass.

 

"You okay, boss?"

 

Laura nodded, her stomach sinking.

 

She was fine, technically.

 

She'd just drunkenly made out with the Queen of England.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO lip touchin'. 
> 
> Laura, you got some 'splaining to do.
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH for checking out this story, you all have literally been the best. Please let me know what you liked/disliked/all your thoughts on Survivor. I just discovered there are about 600 seasons on Hulu. I have become trash. 
> 
> Leave a comment or yell at me on tumblr. Thanks for stopping by, you beautiful tropical fish.


	5. Queens Do Not Weep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla refuses to return to the pub while Laura refuses to let herself think about Carmilla at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY another semi-long wait, but here ya go. This one's a bit longer than the rest so hopefully that makes up for it. And hopefully can make everyone feel a little better, as the world has been 18 types of awful lately and it'd be pretty chill if it stopped. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy these two stubborn gays.
> 
> PS if you see any glaring errors, let a gay (me) know!

 

 

 

Carmilla woke up panting.

 

Her skin was slick with sweat, her heart thundering in her chest and throbbing in her ears. She tried to breathe deep, calm her rapid pulse, but her dream lingered around her; hazy and thick and nearly tangible.

 

_Laura._

 

She’d been there, in her bed; her hands hot and her mouth hotter. Carmilla could feel her heart beating in her fingertips, ghostly memories of skin beneath her hands. She had heard her, the way she moaned in Carmilla’s ear, her breath damp and addicting.

 

Carmilla squirmed in her sheets, her body tightly wound as she remembered what she could from the fleeting, damning dream.

 

It had felt so real.

 

Her body was still hot, as if she’d just felt Laura beneath her.

 

Carmilla ran a hand through her hair, the last tendrils of her erotic haze slipping from her mind. The sensations lessened, the imaginary touches disappeared.

 

Another breath, and then another, and Carmilla could feel her heart slow.

 

It had been nine days since she had seen Laura, since they had drank and drank and...kissed.

 

Laura had kissed her.

 

Kissed her like there was fire in her veins, like the blaze would kill her if she didn’t try and tamp it.

 

It had rocked Carmilla to her core.

 

But that was something that was not allowed to happen.

 

That _could not happen_.

 

Yet this... _this_ kept happening.

 

The dreams.

 

Each different yet remarkably the same.

 

It was always so natural, that she was with Laura. As if it was something obvious, something she had been doing forever. They’d be in her chambers or the pub or even away at some far off, unnameable place. Then something would shift; Carmilla would smell Laura’s perfume or touch her wrist and then the dream would change, turning from familiar and warm to heady and carnal.

 

Needy.

 

Desperate.

 

Delicious.

 

The dreams were near addictions. Carmilla could _feel_ Laura. She’d wake, aching and sweaty and breathless, and wonder how she could remember so vividly what Laura had felt like.

 

It was one kiss.

 

That’s all.

 

Just a drunken error made after too many shots.

 

It meant nothing.

 

It didn’t matter.

 

She could not, would not, go back to the pub.

 

As Carmilla resettled against her pillows, she ignored how the thought made her chest burn.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura was two pints of ice cream deep when she got a text from Wilson.

 

_**Boss, bar is still dead. Want me to close?** _

 

Laura sighed, looking at the time.

 

8:58 P.M.

 

It had been the third time this month. Days where she used to have patrons pouring in, or at least a few reliable regulars, had suddenly dried up. She’d be lucky to get one barfly, maybe two, if tourists happened to stumble in.

 

The weekends were still riotous, loud and over crowded and messes in their own right, but she was hemorrhaging money on the weekdays. Was she going to have to just be a weekend place? It wasn’t what she wanted.

 

She loved talking to people, hearing their stories. She loved the chaos of the weekends but it was the weekdays, seeing familiar faces come in and out. Feeding people and watching them meet their friends, secretly hoping her pub would one day be the setting for where two people fell in love in some happenstance meeting.

 

The thought sent a jolt through Laura.

 

No.

 

She did not have time to think about that.

 

Her livelihood was literally vanishing from beneath her.

 

And yet…

 

Ten days.

 

It had been ten days since she last saw the Queen.

 

 _Since the last time you will ever see her,_ a small voice that sounded so like Carmilla’s warned her.

 

Laura shook the thought, picking up her phone to reply to Wilson.

 

_**Go ahead. Leave the keys under the bar.** _

 

Laura’s finger hovered over send.

 

She knew she shouldn’t. She shouldn’t be thinking about it, about what happened, about _her_.

 

It was a drunken mistake, one that would mortify her until the end of time, but one that didn’t have to mean anything. It was one kiss. One searing, mind numbing, hazy kiss that she only remembered the barest fragments of.

 

But what she remembered…

 

No.

 

She sent the text and dropped her phone beside her, reaching back for her ice cream.

 

A buzz stopped her.

 

Laura slid her phone open and read Wilson’s response.

 

_**Want me to leave the door unlocked?** _

 

Oh.

 

Leave it to Wilson Kirsch to accidentally ask the one question she was avoiding.

 

Leave the door unlocked?

 

Well, she’d been doing it for ten days.

 

And for ten days, nothing happened.

 

At least, she hoped nothing happened. She hadn’t been up all night watching over it, but nothing was stolen and no liquor missing so while it confirmed that her street was relatively safe, it also confirmed that Carmilla wasn’t coming back.

 

Why should she?

 

Laura was no one.

 

They didn’t even really know each other.

 

And then there was the elephant in the room.

 

She was the Queen of England.

 

The damn _Queen_.

 

She’d be on postage stamps.

 

And Laura was just...Laura.

 

One drunken kiss did not mean that the freaking Queen of England liked her. If anything, it should have been considered a miracle that Laura hadn’t been arrested for sexual assault on a member of the royal family.

 

Yet the question still lingered. And Laura hated herself for it.

 

She was no one.

 

She’d always be no one.

 

Enough.

 

_**Lock it.** _

 

Laura tossed her phone away from her as the message sent, her hands instantly reaching for the ice cream in the hope that it would make her feel better about everything, about anything.

 

She finished the second pint knowing she would be opening a third.

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla drummed her fingers against the armrest of her chair, her nerves needling.

 

Prime Minister Vordenburg stood across from her, hand flexing against his cane.

 

“Your brother is...Well, you know him, ma’am. The coronation is approaching and he is...distracting to Parliament, I’m afraid.”

 

William had been photographed drunk and unconscious outside of some woman’s flat early that morning. It was already blasting all over the tabloids and, thanks to the incident at her father’s funeral, blame had somehow been tossed back onto Carmilla.

 

It always was.

 

It always would be, she realized.

 

However, his current mistakes were costing her goodwill with the members of Parliament who already thought her too young and too unprepared to fill her duties responsibly.

 

“He needs to be reigned in.” Carmilla settled, after a moment of pause.

 

Vordenburg nodded, shuffling on his feet.

 

“May I suggest a trip for the prince? Perhaps somewhere he can do some good. Responsibility can often change even the most stubborn of men.”

 

Carmilla wondered.

 

William had always been wild; brash and loud and full of life. He was opposite of Carmilla; more likable. However, his antics had been constantly polarizing. People either loved William for his perchance to live as a regular boy without worry or despised the now twenty two year old for refusing to understand his privilege.

 

Carmilla wasn’t sure where she landed on him, to be completely honest.

 

He was too much, she knew that. Too much and too wild and he needed containing. She was a new monarch; everything she did was under the microscope of comparison.

 

Would she be like her father?

 

Her gut immediately said no.

 

But Vordenburg kept saying how similar they were, how alike in temperament.

 

The real question that was unspoken beneath the first was Carmilla true concern.

 

Would she be as _good_ as her father?

 

He had been a great king. The people had adored him, the press delighted by his charm, and the staff around him had nothing but respect for how he handled himself under the crown.

 

Carmilla had barely been Queen and she already had the beginnings of a scandal on her hands.

 

Her father never would have allowed that to happen.

 

She squared her shoulders, eyeing the Prime Minister.

 

“William will be sent to Windsor for a few weeks, see how he enjoys the countryside. I’ll also have his security team doubled. He wants to have his fun, that’s fine by me. But he won’t be doing it in London until he has collected himself.”

 

Vordenburg hummed, clearly mulling the prospect. After few moments, he spoke again.

 

“Not very far, ma’am. He could easily cause trouble there.”

 

Carmilla offered a curt nod before she stood.

 

“Easily, Prime Minister. But he has two strikes already and I will personally see to it that he knows it is in his best interest to not have a third.”

 

Something in the edge of Carmilla’s voice must have registered because Vordenburg accepted her decision without further push back. He dipped his head in a shallow bow and puttered to the door.

 

Carmilla could feel the tension leak out of her as he was leaving, not even waiting until he was gone to collapse back into her chair. A chuckle came from the doorway.

 

“You are so much like him, you know.”

 

Vordenburg gave Carmilla a weak, soft smile.

 

Before she could question him on his meaning, he had slipped out of the room.

 

Carmilla sat frozen, her sadness and longing for her father suddenly lancing through her chest like ice. Hot tears instantly pricked at her eyes, threatening to slip out, and she pressed her palms to her hot cheeks in order to quell them.

 

_Stop it._

 

She had no time to be sad.

 

The time for mourning was over.

 

_Queens do not weep._

 

Carmilla had heard those words all her life.

 

The first was when she was six and had broken her pinky finger in a fall from a swing. The bone had jutted out her palm, white and stark against the red inside of her hand, and she’d screamed. She’d wailed and sobbed, frantic in panic and shock and pain.

 

She was a child.

 

Her mother hadn’t coddled her, had just had her seen to and fixed up by the best doctors she could find. Mostly to ensure Carmilla’s hand wasn’t permanently disfigured, Carmilla often thought, rather than maternal instinct to protect her.

 

After, when Carmilla’s hand was encased in a cast and it throbbed in pain, her body having gotten past the initial shock, Carmilla had cried.

 

She’d been quiet. She knew to be. But her mother still caught her.

 

“Stop that. You’re going to be Queen someday and Queens do not weep.”

 

_Queens do not weep._

 

Carmilla closed her eyes.

 

Her father’s warm face was there, red from laughing. His beard was dark, like it had been when she was younger, his eyes less lined. She took a moment to revel in it; to remember him.

 

The tears threatened, hovering on the edge of her eyelashes.

 

He had such bright green eyes. Carmilla pictured how they used to look when he thought he’d been clever; sharp and proud and a bit too smug. She held onto it, that look. It was the look she wanted to remember. It was the look that made her hurt less.

 

Or more.

 

She could never tell.

 

The sadness sharpened in her chest, the tears pressing insistently against her eyelids.

 

Carmilla took a deep breath and let the image go.

 

Her mind went blank, dark and empty, and the emotions slid away with her father’s face.

 

“Queens do not weep.” Carmilla whispered to the empty room.

 

When she opened her eyes, her cheeks were dry.

 

 

–

 

 

The phone call to her dad had gone about as well as expected.

 

Laura had debated keeping her money troubles to herself, he worried too much already. But she’d been crying and, in a moment of weakness, she had done what she’d always done; she’d run to her dad.

 

It hadn’t exactly been as comforting as she hoped. He was kind and tried to tell her it would be alright; but there was judgment laced into his tone and he couldn’t help himself from peppering in a few “I knew it”s and “I told you so”s.

 

She’d ended the phone call with less tears but more guilt.

 

_Little Laura couldn’t handle it._

 

_Little Laura had to cry about it._

 

_Little Laura was going to fail._

 

The thoughts hammered away in her head, banging around in her skull. She couldn’t take it.

 

Laura had grabbed the nearest coat she could find and headed down into the pub.

 

It was late, well past midnight, but she didn’t care.

 

If it was good enough for the Queen of England, it was good enough for her.

 

Throwing on her wore green coat and leaving the door to the pub unlocked, Laura headed out into the night to walk. She just needed a respite, something to empty her head from everything.

 

From her doubts.

 

From her guilt.

 

From her mistakes.

 

Laura shook her head, shoving her hands into her pockets to stave off the chill in the air. She let her feet lead her, listening to the quiet sounds of the apartments and shops around her. Most were closed; a club with low thumping base the only true activity in the stillness.

 

She shuffled down an alley, her feet knocking at trash that had been littered on the ground, no doubt from the drunken club goers. She went to kick a rolled piece of paper but it unfurled and clung to the toe of her damp boot.

 

Laura reached down, peeling the paper away. Her breath stalled at the image.

 

It was stepped on and filthy, but even street grime couldn’t diminish how beautiful Carmilla was.

 

The tabloid was a long shot of the Queen walking with brother, Carmilla’s face zoomed in on in the corner of the page. She was scowling, her sharp features aggravated and aimed at her brother. Prince William looked meek and solemn at her side, head hung low. The headline scrawled across the images made anger curl hot in Laura’s stomach.

 

_**ROYAL BITCH** _

 

She crumpled the tabloid in her fist and threw it to the side.

 

How could they write that? How could anyone just assume things about her? They didn’t know her. They hadn’t seen how hard this was on her, how much pressure sat so achingly on her shoulders. Laura’s heart was pounding in her ears, fury sending her pulse into overdrive.

 

She turned back, marching toward her pub.

 

She didn’t know why it made her so angry, so furious that people spoke about Carmilla.

 

She barely knew her.

 

They were nothing to each other.

 

She wasn’t hers in any way; she had no reason to feel the white hot slice of protectiveness.

 

One kiss.

 

It had been one _drunken_ kiss.

 

It shouldn’t even count as a kiss.

 

Laura groaned low in her throat, annoyed that her already cloudy head was now filled with another thick fog. She sped up her pace, hurrying back. Her walked was busted, but there was always another pint of ice cream.

 

She hadn’t gone far, just enough for her nose and ears to feel the chill that was settling in the air. She reached the door for the pub, tugging it open and sighing as the warm air inside hit her, squinting slightly in the sudden brightness compared to the dark outside.

 

Laura then froze.

 

The lights were on.

 

She didn’t leave the front lights on.

 

She always only left the back kitchen light on.

 

Laura’s pulse spiked, her feet moving of their own volition toward the kitchen.

 

She swung the door open quiet, ears perked for any sound. There was nothing. She tiptoed further into the room, eyes flicking from the door behind her toward the backstairs that lead up to her apartment.

 

_Her apartment._

 

Had she locked the door?

 

Crap.

 

There was a creaking, the sound of someone on the stair, and Laura grabbed the closest item to her.

 

Large soup ladle gripped in her right hand, she took a few small steps toward the stairwell.

 

It was empty.

 

Her apartment door, however, was ajar.

 

Laura’s stomach sank.

 

Just as Laura was about to abandon her sneaking to fumble for her phone, the door swung open.

 

The ladle clattered as it fell from Laura’s hand.

 

“Your door was unlocked,” were the first words Carmilla spoke to Laura in eleven days.

 

 

–

 

 

“Do you always break and enter into people’s apartments?” Laura questioned, her eyes wide.

 

Carmilla’s hand tightened on the door handle.

 

“Is it breaking and entering if the door is unlocked?”

 

Laura seemed speechless at that and Carmilla could feel her chest heating up in the pause.

 

_Mistake._

 

Her mind was filled with the word.

 

_You should never have come back here._

 

_You know you should never have come back here._

 

She did; Carmilla did know.

 

But her talk with William had been done over days, one instance caught by cameras, and her mind was spinning. She was filled with fear and weakness and endless guilt. She could barely breathe inside the palace. When she’d managed to slip away, her feet had just taken her here, she hadn’t meant to come.

 

And Laura kept leaking into her thoughts like water through a sieve.

 

She should have stayed away.

 

But Laura somehow made it easier to breathe.

 

So she had wandered into the pub and up into her apartment only to realize Laura wasn’t home. In that stillness, in the quiet emptiness of the bartender’s living room, Carmilla realized how out of sorts she was, how inappropriate she was being.

 

She was the fucking _Queen_.

 

She did not sneak into some girl’s apartment because she’d had a rough day.

 

But she had.

 

And she’d been caught.

 

“Did...Did you want a drink?”

 

Laura’s voice was high, clearly uncomfortable. Carmilla had the urge to sprint down the stairs and dart away, never to explain herself. She held fast at Laura’s doorway instead.

 

“Do you have any tea?”

 

Carmilla’s voice came without her meaning to, like the words couldn’t keep themselves in.

 

Then, Laura was moving up the stairs and standing right in front of Carmilla, one step down.

 

It would have been so easy to just lean down and kiss her.

 

Carmilla swallowed the thought, hand still clenched around the door handle.

 

“I’ll put the kettle on.” Laura said, voice low between the two of them, before she slid past Carmilla into her apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

 

Carmilla took a deep breath and followed.

 

 

–

 

 

_Do not bring up the kiss. Do not bring up the kiss. Do not bring up the kiss._

 

Laura’s mind was screaming.

 

Both women were sitting on Laura’s worn couch, nearly as far apart as they could be on the small loveseat.

 

Carmilla’s posture was perfect, her shoulders squared, and she reminded Laura so fiercely of the first time they met that it made Laura want to hug her. She’d seen her so much looser since then.

 

_Until you kissed her._

 

Laura took a sip from her mug, trying to think of anything to say in the painful silence.

 

“Thank you for the tea.” Carmilla offered, voice slightly smoother and lower than what Laura had become accustomed to; her proper voice, Laura decided.

 

“Um, thank you for...” Laura’s brain scrambled, unable to think of why she’d be thanking Carmilla until, “thank you for coming back.”

 

Carmilla’s dark eyes widened and Laura felt heat sear up her neck.

 

Both took awkward sips of their tea as another silence fell around them.

 

Another few minutes and Laura realized her mug was empty. She glanced over at Carmilla to see her fiddling with her hands, cup long since finished and resting on the coffee table.

 

“Thank you for the tea...again.” Carmilla tried, eyes downcast.

 

Laura’s heart was thundering. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Her mouth, which was usually one step ahead of her, was silent.

 

_Say something._

 

_Anything._

 

_Just don’t bring up the kiss._

 

_Anything else._

 

_Come on, Hollis._

 

“You’re a really good kisser.”

 

Laura’s hand slapped over her mouth as soon as the words came tumbling out. She stood up covering her face in her hands, pacing from the couch and circling behind it.

 

“Oh my god, you can leave if you want. I am so sorry, that was totally inappropriate, I was totally inappropriate that night and this whole thing is inappropriate. Holy shit, what is happening to me?”

 

Laura stopped to take in a breath and heard the most alarming thing.

 

Laughter.

 

Soft.

 

Unpracticed.

 

But laughter.

 

Laura peeled her fingers away from her face and looked back at the couch. Carmilla was relaxed into the pillows, chuckling and looking more like she had the last time Laura saw her; looser, familiar.

 

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you said something. I honestly wasn’t sure if you remembered.”

 

Laura let out a sighing laugh. “I didn’t.”

 

Carmilla’s eyebrows knit together and Laura rushed to correct.

 

“I mean, at first. I was...I don’t drink very much.”

 

“So you said.”

 

Laura tentatively walked back toward the couch. She stood near the side, unsure if sitting would be appropriate.

 

“It took me a few days, but the pieces came back.”

 

Carmilla nodded, her dark hair falling over her shoulders. Laura felt her heart stutter in her chest but ignored it in favor of curling herself into the corner of the couch.

 

“I’m sorry for breaking into your apartment. And your bar. Repeatedly.”

 

There was a ghost of a smile on Carmilla’s lips and Laura felt the urge to swipe her thumb against the corner of it.

 

“Like you said, the door was unlocked.”

 

Carmilla hummed, their eyes meeting.

 

“Yes...It was.”

 

There was a breath, a moment where Laura thought she could move past whatever energy Carmilla seemed to trigger in her. She could just be this, a casual bartender to a weary patron. It was her favorite part of her job, talking to people.

 

If this was what the Queen of England needed, Laura could do that.

 

For a breath, it didn’t seem that hard.

 

Inhale.

 

 

–

 

 

For a breath, Carmilla thought she didn’t really want Laura. It was just that Laura was there, she was beautiful, and she listened. Perhaps that was all she really wanted; someone to listen. She could be that, an occasional customer who complained to the owner of the local pub.

 

If for a moment, she could just be Carmilla and not the Queen of England, she thought that was enough.

 

For a breath, it didn’t seem that hard.

 

Exhale.

 

 

–

 

 

The breath left her lungs and then Carmilla’s mouth was covering hers. Laura surged forward, pressing closer. A sound of surprise squeaked out of Carmilla and Laura couldn’t help the smile that distracted her from kissing.

 

Carmilla shook her head, clearly annoyed by Laura’s lack of focus, and tugged Laura back in. Her teeth nipped at Laura’s bottom lip, almost painfully, and the groan that released from the back of her throat sent heat unfurling through her veins.

 

Laura couldn’t think beyond _yes more yes please_ and her hands slid up to tangle in Carmilla’s soft hair. Her lips were damp and hungry, insatiable to stop. She was afraid if she pulled away, it wouldn't’ be real. Carmilla wouldn’t be leaning into her, hands cupping her face, tongue tracing her own in a movement that made Laura’s arms tremble.

 

Carmilla must have noticed her shiver because she pulled away. Laura could barely contain the whine at her movement and didn’t catch her body in time to stop her from trying to lean back with her. Soft warm breath puffed against her face and languidly, fearfully, Laura opened her eyes.

 

Carmilla’s face was flushed, her high cheeks pink and rosy. The color grew up from the redness covering her neck and Laura felt a pull to suck against the blushed skin. Her dark eyes were wide but not shocked, Laura saw thankfully, and her lips were swollen and damp. Laura licked her own at the sight of them.

 

“I just...” Carmilla started, voice husky and sending another tremor through Laura, “I just wanted to know.”

 

Laura nodded dumbly at that.

 

She had wanted to know too, that night so drunk and so uninhibited.

 

She knew, then.

 

She knew now, too.

 

“May I come by for a drink tomorrow?”

 

Laura nodded, her voice lost.

 

A few slow moments later, Carmilla was up and by the door. She looked lost and flustered and too good. Laura wanted to drag her back on top of her, press her body into the hollows that all of Carmilla’s clothes hid. Instead, she stayed tucked on the couch, breath labored.

 

“Goodnight, Laura. I will see you tomorrow.”

 

She slipped out the door, it falling shut softly behind her.

 

Laura fell back onto the couch, her heart pounding and her head spinning.

 

She had a date with the Queen of England.

 

No.

 

That was wrong, she realized.

 

She didn’t have a date with the Queen.

 

_She had a date with Carmilla._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SLOW BURN still be slow burning but at least it's moving? Also apparently Carmilla knows no limit to B&Es. 
> 
> You guys have honestly been the fuckin' best and so nice to me with this story, I really appreciate all of it. I love you all as much as Leslie Knope loves Ann Perkins. 
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read it and let me know what you thought!


	6. Little Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> William knocks the wind out of Carmilla while Laura realizes she's already in too deep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP I'M SORRY. This was a fucking long wait. I'm just a dick, no excuse. Here's hoping this chapter is good. I kind of can't tell anymore. Its a wee angsty but also not at the same time? I don't know. ENJOY YOU COOL KIDS.

 

 

 

“You’re fucking joking.”

 

Carmilla didn’t look up from her memos about the next ambassador’s visit. She took a deep breath and flipped to the next one.

 

“I don’t joke.” She offered.

 

“You’re sending me off with babysitters.”

 

Carmilla sighed, folding her hands over top of her documents and looking up.

 

William was slumped onto the couch, his clothes wrinkled and half torn.

 

He looked like hell.

 

Luckily, no paparazzi had caught his debauchery this time as he’d been caught before he’d managed to leave the palace.

 

“They’re your security team, William.”

 

He scoffed, crossing his arms.

 

“Overgrown babysitters, then.”

 

Carmilla felt a nostalgic fondness for him bloom in her chest. He looked so like he had when he was six years old; dirty and ruffled and huffing that he didn’t get his way. He’d always been a pouter, using his big eyes and sad frown to get anything from extra cakes to a new horse. It always used to infuriate Carmilla; infuriate and annoy and amuse.

 

William dropped his head back against the couch pillows and groaned.

 

“Being Queen has made you a right bitch.” He mumbled.

 

Carmilla’s chest tightened.

 

The fondness dried up.

 

“Yes, well, enjoy thinking that in Windsor with your six overgrown babysitters.”

 

William’s head shot up.

 

“Six?!”

 

Carmilla nodded.

 

“Six.”

 

“Six bloody bodyguards?”

 

“Apparently three was not sufficient.”

 

Carmilla looked back to her documents, intending to ignore the remainder of William’s wallowing. It wasn’t as if it was something she hadn’t seen before.

 

She doubted it would be the last.

 

“You need me around, ‘Milla.” William offered, his voice hard yet light.

 

“You need my drunken face plastered all over the papers.”

 

Carmilla clenched her jaw, glancing up.

 

“I need you to ruin my reputation before I can even make one? Is that so?”

 

William got up from the couch and plopped himself into the chair across from Carmilla’s desk. He tossed his feet up onto the corner, dirt from his mucked boots smudging against the shiny wood.

 

“Our reputation was ruined long before me, ‘Milla. If you think I’m the worst royal there’s ever been, you’ve clearly never looked at our family history.”

 

He leaned forward, flicking a clump of mud from the toe of his shoe, before slouching back into his chair.

 

“I’m just giving the people a distraction. Everyone loves to read about the wild Prince. Keeps the focus off you.”

 

Carmilla’s shoulders tensed as she glared at him.

 

“You cannot be serious. Your actions directly reflect on me. You being a drunken embarrassment doesn’t affect you, William. It affects me. It affects how Parliament views me, how the people view me. You are not invisible just because you are not on the throne.”

 

A thick silence fell around them.

 

Carmilla knew she had hit a spot of discomfort; her position and the chasm it created between them. But she couldn’t help but point it out. He was making her life more difficult and made it sound like she was wrong to care.

 

Their father was dead.

 

She’d been forced into a mantel she wasn’t ready for.

 

And he was pretending that none of it mattered.

 

William stared at her a moment before standing. He tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down at her.

 

“You might want to save some of that advice for yourself.”

 

Carmilla’s eyebrows knit together.

 

“What are you implying?”

 

He turned and walked toward the door, his once loose gait suddenly stiff and ridged. He turned back to her as he reached the door.

 

“You think no one knows about your little nighttime walks? I don’t know what deal you struck with Jean Pierre,”

 

“J.P.” Carmilla instinctively corrected.

 

William bristled further.

 

“Whatever arrangement you have, it can’t last. Your coronation is getting closer and you’re sending the paparazzi's main distraction away. So I hope you don’t mind them finding out where you run to at night.”

 

Carmilla’s heart rate spiked.

 

“What are you talking about?”

 

Carmilla could hear the edge in her own voice. William’s body shook with a hollow laugh.

 

“Oh, don’t be stupid. Of course I know. You think you’re the only one father taught how to sneak in and out of here?”

 

Carmilla could hear the blood rushing through her ears, her lungs tightening.

 

She _did_ think that.

 

Or she had, until this moment. She thought that had been a secret for her, a bond between her and her father. She felt blush creeping up her neck, embarrassment flooding her veins.

 

Not so special after all, it seemed.

 

_My little fool._

 

“Did I hit a nerve?” William whispered, his voice low and sharp and angrier than Carmilla had ever heard it.

 

He didn’t stay to hear a response, just slipped out the door and left Carmilla to the quiet.

 

Her mind was whirring. She couldn’t slow it down.

 

They knew.

 

They knew she was leaving at night, knew and never said.

 

Yet no one had stopped her...William _was_ a good distraction.

 

She hadn’t thought of that.

 

And she and J.P. _had_ made an arrangement.

 

But she was the Princess then and now she was the Queen.

 

She hadn’t been crowned, not officially, but the throne was never empty and it became hers as soon as her father stopped breathing.

 

William was right.

 

The anonymity, the secret walks in the dark of night; they couldn’t last forever.

 

Hell, they shouldn’t have been happening now.

 

Carmilla couldn’t find her voice.

 

She couldn’t think it.

 

She could not think it.

 

_Don’t think the word._

 

_Don’t think about it._

 

_Don’t think about what you’re hiding._

 

But the only word she could think tumbled over and over in her mind, loud and hot and thunderous. It smashed against her skull, clamoring and refusing to be ignored.

 

Carmilla closed her eyes, fists clenching against her desk.

 

The word came, unstoppable.

 

_Laura._

 

 

–

 

 

“Laura!”

 

“What?!”

 

Mel stood at the door to the kitchen, hands on her hips and a complete look of disbelief on her face.

 

“I’ve been calling your name for like fifteen minutes.”

 

Laura shook her head and rolled her eyes.

 

“Don’t exaggerate.”

 

Mel walked up behind her and plucked the glass she was drying from her hands. She shoved it in Laura’s face.

 

“You’ve been drying the same cup for twenty.”

 

Laura sighed, her shoulders falling.

 

“Sorry. I’m...distracted, I guess.”

 

Mel nodded, stacking the glass neatly under the bar.

 

“Yeah, I’m not interested. I just want to know if we are getting our checks tonight.”

 

Laura froze.

 

Checks.

 

Paychecks.

 

Money.

 

The thing she’d been avoiding thinking about by thinking of Carmilla instead.

 

_Carmilla._

 

Queen Carmilla who she would see tonight.

 

Queen Carmilla who she had a date with _tonight_.

 

A date.

 

_A freaking date with the Queen of England._

 

“Oy, Laura! Where do you keep going?”

 

Mel was staring at her, clearly annoyed. Laura cleared her throat before absentmindedly swiping the bar with the rag she’d been drying glasses with.

 

“Right, checks. Um, do you mind if I get it to you tomorrow? I forgot to do the books last night.”

 

Laura could feel the flush on her chest, threatening to bleed up into her cheeks. She didn’t look at Mel, couldn’t bare to. After a silence that felt longer than it was, Mel sighed.

 

“As long as it’s tomorrow.” She pulled out a worn apron from under the bar and tied it around her waist. “Rent’s due.” She offered in way of explanation.

 

As if she needed to give one, as if Laura didn’t understand Mel wanting her paycheck.

 

Of course she did.

 

And Laura wanted to pay her.

 

But she was moving money around like a madman, shuffling it from one place to the next to make sure the lights would stay on and her own landlords wouldn’t kick her out; balancing the due dates and throwing checks into the air in the hopes they’d cash out.

 

It was exhausting.

 

And embarrassing.

 

It was that most of all.

 

It was embarrassing to the point of humiliation.

 

But she couldn’t let Mel, anyone, know that.

 

“Tomorrow, absolutely.” Laura offered, nodding her head a little too vigorously as Mel began rolling silverware.

 

She could feel the lie on the back of her teeth. Laura didn’t know if she would have the money tomorrow. She’d write the checks, give one to Mel, hope it cashed. But if it didn’t…

 

Laura shook her head, moving from the bar to head back into the kitchen.

 

She couldn’t think about it.

 

Not now.

 

Worrying did nothing.

 

And besides, there was another pressing matter that still would not leave her mind.

 

Carmilla.

 

 _Carmilla_.

 

Her breath stalled in her chest as the Queen’s face, her _mouth_ , floated through her memory.

 

For now, she would just think of seeing her; of seeing her tonight.

 

Tonight.

 

Laura’s heart stuttered in her chest.

 

She would see the Queen of England tonight.

 

As she shoved through the swinging door into the kitchen, readying to start the burners so she could fry up some unhealthy yet delicious pub food, she tried not to grin in anticipation.

 

Her mouth refused to stop bowing upward all night.

 

 

–

 

 

_I hope you don’t mind them finding out where you run to at night._

 

William’s insipid voice was mocking her, whispering constantly in her mind.

 

Carmilla paced in her room, her coat twisted in her hands.

 

She could leave.

 

It was late enough.

 

J.P. hadn’t come to her, hadn’t tried to stop her.

 

And yet.

 

He must know.

 

If he didn’t, what type of security was he?

 

How foolish she had been.

 

Of course they knew.

 

Of course they did.

 

She was the fucking Queen.

 

The idea that she’d been sneaking around without notice was preposterous.

 

She was a fool for having thought so.

 

_My little fool._

 

Carmilla sank to her knees, her face hot and her eyes damp.

 

Her father’s voice echoed just behind William’s, his loving nickname hitting her like a shot to the lungs. It sat on her chest, heavy and full and knowing.

 

She was a little fool.

 

Foolish to think that she could have this, could have Laura, without anyone knowing.

 

Foolish to think her brother would help her, would hold her hand and empty himself of pride to protect her.

 

Foolish to think that she was like _him_.

 

Her father.

 

_You are so like him._

 

Prime Minister Vordenburg had said so, so many times. But the words felt hollow now; wrong and thin and indulgent.

 

She was not like her father, not really.

 

He would never have wanted something he could not have.

 

He would never have hidden it, if he did.

 

He would have walked boldly into the sun and taken what he enjoyed.

 

Carmilla felt her chest hollow.

 

She hung her coat back in her closet.

 

 

–

 

 

_Ten more minutes._

 

It was 3:46 am. It was too late. She knew that, she did.

 

She _knew_.

 

But Laura couldn’t bring herself to leave the dim light of the pub. She was exhausted, ragged and worn from a day of belligerent men and annoying frat boys. She sat slunk low in a booth, the air still smelling faintly of sweat and stale beer.

 

She could clean.

 

That would take her mind off of the absence.

 

But that would mean she thought Carmilla wasn’t going to show.

 

And, despite the evidence, despite the empty bar before her, Laura refused to think that.

 

She would come.

 

She had to.

 

That kiss was not nothing.

 

Laura could still feel it in the base of her spine. It rested between her lungs and her ribs, vibrating around her sternum. She could taste Carmilla’s mouth, remember how slick her tongue was. The mere memory lit up in her insides, sent spiderwebs of desire spinning through her veins.

 

She knew that meant something.

 

Laura’s fingers drummed against the knotted wood table in front of her, ignoring how the pads of her skin stuck to the filthy surface.

 

Carmilla was coming.

 

She had to be.

 

Laura took a deep breath, looking at the clock.

 

3:58 am.

 

_Ten more minutes._

 

 

–

 

 

Laura walked upstairs with her hand pressed to her chest.

 

She should have known.

 

She was just little Laura.

 

Of course she should have known.

 

Who would want her? Certainly not Carmilla.

 

Not the _Queen_.

 

 

–

 

 

Her hand had shook as she locked the door.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura had no intention of leaving it unlocked again.

 

 

–

 

 

Mornings were never her favorite time of day.

 

She preferred when the sun was high, when the day had fully warmed and the clouds had burned off as much as could be expected.

 

Laura typically made tea when she woke, putting the kettle on before she even brushed her teeth. As it boiled, she would wash her face and ready for the day. A ritual. A comfort.

 

However, she could not bring herself to get out of bed.

 

She knew she was overreacting.

 

Carmilla was the damn _Queen_.

 

Something could have come up. A national emergency. A crisis of the United Nations. The United States could have tried to start war with someone and needed to be talked down.

 

There were a hundred, a thousand reasons why Carmilla didn’t show.

 

In the hollow of her chest, Laura knew none of them were true.

 

Carmilla did not come see her for a reason.

 

She could feel it; it sank into her bone marrow and weighted her limbs.

 

_It doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Get over yourself._

 

Laura tried to think past it, push past it.

 

But, _damn it_ , she wanted her.

 

She wanted the Queen of England.

 

She was so fucking screwed.

 

Laura groaned, rolling until she tumbled out of bed.

 

Dragging her feet, she slumped into her living room with the intention of heading into the kitchen. She was late for her morning tea.

 

However, the body curled on her couch gave her pause.

 

Tucked against the small loveseat, clothes damp from rain and hair frizzy from sleep, was Carmilla.

 

Laura felt her heart stutter in her chest.

 

How the hell did she get in her apartment?

 

She really needed to start locking her door.

 

 

–

 

 

It smelled like bacon. Bacon and sausage and something sweet...Strudel. Or crepes. She couldn’t tell.

 

Carmilla stretched, her left arm getting caught and pulled back by whatever she was wearing.

 

Her coat? Why was she still in her coat?

 

And why was she wet?

 

A new scent came; soft and warm and lovely. Instinctively she relaxed, her arms coming back down to reach for whatever smelled so tempting.

 

“Hands to yourself, missy.”

 

Carmilla’s eyes snapped open.

 

Sitting by her feet, wearing a baggy gray shirt and nearly invisible shorts, was Laura Hollis.

 

“I’d like to know how you got into my apartment before you try and get to second base.”

 

Carmilla’s throat tightened as Laura smirked down at her.

 

“If you don’t mind.” Laura laughed lightly before offering her a plate of food.

 

“What say you eat something and then explain yourself?”

 

Carmilla couldn’t focus; Laura’s collar bones were slowly being shown from the droopiness of her shirt, a warm thigh was pressed against her nearly close enough to touch, and there was _bacon_.

 

Laura took a crisp bite of toast, relaxing into the couch and ignoring Carmilla’s discomfort.

 

“I’m not waiting just because you’re the Queen.” She mumbled between bites.

 

Carmilla felt a laugh try and bubble out of her.

 

She stifled it but reached for a plate.

 

Against the pillows, guilt and rain covering her, with Laura tucked against her feet, Carmilla felt more comfortable than she had in years.

 

She swallowed the feeling.

 

Laura Hollis was going to be dangerous, she realized.

 

 _My little fool_.

 

Carmilla smiled at the girl next to her.

 

She understood how true that name was.

 

How true it had always been.

 

_My little fool._

 

How right her father was.

 

How right he _always_ was.

 

“You should really get a better lock.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for putting up with my awful updating schedule. And for being the nicest people ever??? Honestly. You guys. Please buy yourselves ice cream cones or some non-dairy product if you're lactose intolerant (I am). 
> 
> ANYWAY thank you so much for reading, let me know what you think. Too slow burny? Any bits ya liked or disliked? Let a b know. (I'm the b) 
> 
> MAY YOU ALL FIND LOVE LIKE CORY AND TOPANGA


	7. Too Much

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura reach a breaking point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, here's this. 
> 
> A chapter. With things in it. Some plot and some not. You'll see.
> 
> THANKS FOR READING IT

 

 

 

Carmilla stared at the reflection in the mirror, her gaze lingering on the dark circles beneath her eyes.

 

The ticking owl clock tacked to the bathroom wall read 7:46 am. She’d gotten roughly an hour and half of sleep, tucked on Laura’s couch.

 

The bags under her eyes were proof of that.

 

This wasn’t exactly what she’d intended when she had set out at nearly five in the morning.

 

She had intended to wait in the pub, to apologize to Laura for instigating something she knew could never be. She had intended to end whatever was threatening to start, to swear she would not bother Laura anymore. She had intended to pay for the drinks she’d been freely given, to offer Laura what explanation she could, and to promise she would not break in again.

 

But then the door had been locked.

 

Carmilla wasn’t expecting that.

 

Standing out in the drizzle, her body soaked from the long walk it had taken to get there, with that damn locked door in her face; Carmilla felt something inside her crack.

 

She didn’t remember how it happened, exactly.

 

But one moment she was clenching her fist around the doorknob and the next she was listening to a rusted lock crunch as she forced the handle.

 

Another thing she would need to pay for.

 

And upgrade.

 

She wasn’t overly strong, the lock was broken with just one firm twist.

 

There hadn’t even been a deadbolt.

 

Laura really didn’t seem concerned for her own safety.

 

Carmilla ran her hand over her face, blinking tired eyes at the memory.

 

The pub had been dark when she’d entered it. And she knew what she meant to do; stay, wait, explain, leave. Never return. But the door had been locked.

 

Locked because Laura wanted to keep her out.

 

That had unsettled something in her chest.

 

She had to explain herself, immediately.

 

Carmilla couldn’t wait until morning.

 

So she’d walked up to Laura’s apartment, wondering if she was going to find another barred door, only to find the handle unlocked.

 

Completely unsafe.

 

Laura seemed to totally disregard her own well being. It made Carmilla oddly angry.

 

She shook her head.

 

Laura was not hers.

 

She had no reason to want her safe, to protect her.

 

_But you do._

 

The voice whispered through her mind, haunting and soft and true.

 

Her father’s voice; all knowing and slightly smug.

 

_You want her._

 

Carmilla splashed a handful of water against her face, letting the droplets slip down her skin for a moment before dabbing them away with a soft gray towel that hung beneath the owl clock.

 

When she’d been standing in Laura’s dark apartment, alone and rain soaked and so very aware of how intrusive she was being, Carmilla couldn’t stand anymore. She had sunk onto Laura’s couch and tried to reason with herself.

 

She was the _fucking Queen of England._

 

She did not chase after women.

 

She certainly did not force them to see her when she knew she was unwanted.

 

And that’s what the locked door meant.

 

Laura did not want her, not after she left her waiting.

 

Quite right, too.

 

A queen would not have done that.

 

_Carmilla_ should not have done that.

 

And as she sat on Laura’s worn couch, her damp jacket clinging to the pillows, she knew she should not have broken in either. It was too much. She couldn’t explain this, explain why she needed Laura to know she hadn’t just forgotten her.

 

To do so was for her own benefit, not Laura’s.

 

She wanted to be absolved.

 

Carmilla’s reflection stared back at her, pale and tired and guilty.

 

She did not want Laura to hate her.

 

What was worse, she wanted Laura to feel other things for her.

 

Affection.

 

Desire.

 

Need.

 

A forth word floated through her mind but she stifled it, unwilling to acknowledge the presence of such a beast.

 

It was too much.

 

She had always been too much.

 

She could hear her mother’s voice, feel her hand holding her jaw, forcing her to look at her.

 

_You are too much, ‘Milla._

 

Always too much.

 

Carmilla took a deep breath, readying to face Laura and explain herself.

 

This had to end.

 

Even before it started.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura rinsed the last pan from breakfast, trying to ignore how much her senses were keyed in on the bathroom.

 

She’d found Carmilla asleep on her couch.

 

She’d found _the fucking Queen_ asleep on her couch.

 

It wasn’t even a couch. It was a loveseat. Barely big enough for one, let alone big enough for someone to sleep on.

 

Laura shook her head.

 

Not the issue at hand.

 

The issue was that the Queen of England was washing her face in her bathroom and all Laura could do was wait until she returned.

 

They hadn’t spoken during breakfast; both a little too startled, she could only assume. She knew she was taken aback by Carmilla’s presence.

 

Not unpleasantly.

 

She…

 

Laura hated to think it, hated to open her ribs and let her heart feel the emotions that had crashed into her.

 

She’d been so _endeared_ with Carmilla for being there.

 

She knew she shouldn’t.

 

_Do not get attached._

 

_She’s not yours._

 

_She will never be yours._

 

Laura put the pan she was rinsing down, vowing to return to it later.

 

No sooner had she shut off the faucet, the bathroom door opened and Carmilla stepped into the room.

 

Laura turned to look at her, watching as Carmilla tiptoed around the corner as if trying to go unnoticed. It looked practiced, like she’d learned to not take up space, to not draw attention. It made Laura’s chest ache.

 

How could anyone not notice Carmilla?

 

She was all Laura could focus on.

 

“Thank you, for letting me sleep here and for breakfast. I apologize, again, for...for...”

 

Carmilla’s words trailed off, their methodical and rhythmed pace faltering. Laura had the urge to cross the room and still Carmilla’s fidgeting hands with her own.

 

Silence fell around them, the half spoken apology lingering in the air, stifling.

 

_Say something._

 

_Say something, anything._

 

_Help her._

 

Laura’s brain screamed her to do something. She couldn’t just let the awkward tension stiffen around them. Carmilla looked so small, so uncomfortable, so young. She had to act.

 

Now.

 

“How did you get in?”

 

Okay, not exactly the help she was aiming at, but she spoke and that was progress.

 

Carmilla’s face flushed prettily and Laura had to lean against the counter behind her to keep from walking over and pressing her fingertips against the blushing skin.

 

Carmilla gingerly walked to the couch and sat down on it. With her back to Laura, she spoke.

 

“I broke your lock.”

 

Laura laughed.

 

She couldn’t help it.

 

Carmilla glared over her shoulder at the sound.

 

Laura threw her hands up in mock surrender.

 

“I’m sorry.” She managed through soft giggles. “It’s just...I mean, you’re...you’re _you_ and it’s a little funny.”

 

“How so?” Carmilla’s hard voice asked.

 

Laura tried to stifle her smile but could barely manage it. She wandered to the couch and plopped down across from Carmilla, sitting on a worn coffee table. Their knees brushed together lightly and Carmilla shifted at the contact.

 

“You’re the Queen of England. When do you think was the last time the British monarch broke a lock to get into a pub?”

 

Carmilla’s scowl seems to soften, not entirely removed but enough that Laura knew she’d gotten through her defenses at least a little. Carmilla ducked her head, looking down at her fingers as she twisted them together.

 

“I don’t know what came over me. I should not have done it. I’ll have it repaired. Make it stronger.”

 

The shame in Carmilla’s voice wiped the smile from Laura’s face.

 

She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to take Carmilla’s hands in her own, if only to stop the fidgeting.

 

Carmilla’s head popped up, startled by the touch.

 

For a long moment, they just stared at one another; hands intertwined, knees brushing, both leaning a little too close.

 

Then, Carmilla was speaking again.

 

“It was disrespectful, breaking in. And staying here? Without you knowing? I don’t...this isn’t...”

 

Suddenly, Carmilla stood up and strode to the door, flinging it open and jogging down the stairs.

 

Laura barely had time to register what was happening before she was running after her.

 

“Wait! Carmilla, please!”

 

 

–

 

What the _fuck_ was she thinking?

 

Carmilla nearly sprinted through the bar, hastening to the entrance to the pub and slamming her hand on the doorknob. She tugged against it but it stuck, the broken lock causing the door to jam.

 

_Just let me out, please._

 

She was a grown woman; an adult. She should not have broken in, should not have used her rank to abuse Laura’s hospitality. Who was going to kick the Queen out of their apartment? She’d basically forced herself on Laura, when she knew she was unwanted.

 

Too much.

 

She was always _too much._

 

She needed to get out of there.

 

Now.

 

“Wait! Carmilla, please!”

 

Laura’s voice made her heart thump wildly and Carmilla yanked on the door again.

 

Before she could get a second pull, a hand was on hers tearing it away from the handle. Laura spun her around and pressed another hand against the door, keeping it closed.

 

She was pinned between Laura and the door, both breathing heavily. Carmilla could feel useless tears pushing at the backs of her eyes, overly aware of Laura’s warm body pressed against her own.

 

Too much, always too much.

 

She was _always_ like this.

 

Her mother used to tell her so.

 

Too sensitive, too weak, too easily broken.

 

Too much, every time.

 

_You must learn to temper, Carmilla. No one wants a woman to be more than they wish, especially their Queen._

 

Carmilla swallowed her mother’s words, ignoring how they made her chest ache.

 

Meanwhile, Laura’s gaze flicked frantic over Carmilla’s face, her warm eyes studying her in worry.

 

Carmilla looked away, still attempting to pull the door open with feeble tugs.

 

“Carmilla...” Laura breathed, her breath fanning over Carmilla’s face.

 

“Why do you keep running?”

 

Carmilla clenched her jaw, eyes flaring as she looked at Laura.

 

“I shouldn’t have come back.”

 

Laura glared back at her, unfazed.

 

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

 

The agreement knocked the wind out of Carmilla.

 

Laura spoke again.

 

“But you did.”

 

Carmilla swallowed, her heart jumping into her throat.

 

She’d been caught.

 

So, yes, they both knew she should not have returned.

 

Be it from the first drink, to the promise of another, to the hope of a date.

 

Laura knew it as well as she did, she should not have returned.

 

There was too much between them, too much around them, too much pressing down upon the pair to even give thought to...whatever this was.

 

She was always too much, it seemed.

 

At least she was consistent.

 

“I can’t seem to stop.” Carmilla whispered, her voice rough but honest.

 

She didn’t want to say it, to admit it, but the words fell out of her without filter.

 

How could she lie?

 

How could she tell Laura anything but what was? Her face was so close, her skin so warm and flushed, their bodies pressed tightly together. Carmilla could barely remember her own name, let alone try to lie.

 

And now, after everything; after breaking a lock to reach her, after nearly crying on her couch, after this desperate attempt to flee, what could be left to hide?

 

Carmilla had accidentally left herself raw.

 

And for once, for the first time since childhood, she was willing to let someone see.

 

“I don’t understand you, Laura.” Carmilla offered, her words shaky.

 

Laura’s head tilted to the side, clearly confused.

 

Carmilla squared her shoulders, gently pushing Laura away from her. She steadied herself, as she’d been taught.

 

Firm footing, good posture, strong breath.

 

Laura seemed to stumble back, caught off guard by the change.

 

Carmilla wanted to try and touch her, comfort her in some way, but this needed to be said without the haze of physicality.

 

A deep breath and Carmilla spoke.

 

“I keep coming back here. I know I shouldn’t. You know I shouldn’t. But I do. Every time. And I don’t...I can’t...”

 

Carmilla couldn’t voice it, couldn’t say why Laura pulled her in like gravity.

 

“Shut up.” Laura whispered.

 

Carmilla’s eyebrows shot into her hairline and then Laura was kissing her.

 

She would deny until she died the relieved groan that whined out of her, but her hands tangled themselves in Laura’s hair, tugging her closer instantaneously.

 

The kiss was different than their previous ones. Those had been fast and needy and desperate; frantic, fleeting, finite.

 

This...this was different.

 

This was slow, shaking, deep. Carmilla could feel Laura’s fingertips as they pressed against her neck, smell her perfume of lavender and vanilla, hear every small, delicious sound Laura made.

 

It was tempered, reasoned.

 

Done with purpose.

 

The pull was there, Carmilla would always be pulled to Laura, but this wasn’t a kiss of instinct.

 

It was a kiss of choice.

 

Carmilla’s mouth opened beneath Laura’s and she chose.

 

She chose, again and again.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura couldn’t stop her hips from rocking forward, Carmilla’s tongue sliding against her own.

 

It felt too good, Carmilla tasted too good, the hands tugging against her hair stung too good.

 

It was too much.

 

She couldn’t stop, had no desire to.

 

Laura pulled away, her chest aching with the need to breathe. Carmilla’s mouth fell to her neck, sucking against the skin and nipping sharply with her teeth. Laura’s hands dropped to Carmilla’s shoulders, gripping tightly as her knees tried to buckle.

 

“Carm...”

 

The name fell out of her mouth, heavy and involuntary and warm.

 

Carmilla’s mouth slowed against her throat, focusing on the juncture of her shoulder and neck.

 

“Laura.” She finally breathed against her skin, the word sending quakes through Laura’s body.

 

Never had her name sounded so holy.

 

She winced at how deep she was, at how screwed she was.

 

Gently, her hands slid up to cup Carmilla’s cheeks. She pulled her up, finding her dark eyes.

 

Both were breathing heavily; Carmilla’s lips were wet and red and plump. Laura couldn’t stop herself from leaning in and suckling against her bottom lip, her stomach tightening as Carmilla whined into her mouth.

 

She had wanted to stop, to talk about this.

 

To figure out what this meant.

 

Because Carmilla was running.

 

She had tried to run.

 

And Laura had locked her out.

 

Barred the door and meant to avoid her.

 

Yet, here they were, drowning in one another, helpless to stop.

 

She didn’t know how they moved, who made the choice, but suddenly she had Carmilla pressed into a booth. Her arm was wedged against a table and Carmilla’s back was sticking to worn leather seat, but her knee slipped between Carmilla’s legs and both girls couldn’t stop from groaning.

 

“Laura...” Carmilla’s hands slipped under her loose shirt, Laura’s skin lighting up as the pads of her fingers brushed against her.

 

“Take it off.” She husked, her mouth finding Carmilla’s earlobe and tugging.

 

The shirt came over her head, landing somewhere underneath the booth.

 

She slipped down Carmilla’s body, her skin tingling as it rubbed against Carmilla’s clothes. She pushed up Carmilla’s shirt, annoyed that her jacket was still on and stopping her from pushing the garment higher. With a growl, Laura shot up and grabbed Carmilla by the collar.

 

She tugged her upward and shucked the jacket away, it landing with a damp plop somewhere behind her.

 

Laura didn’t know what had come over her. But she had to touch Carmilla, had to know she was real.

 

This was too much, she knew.

 

But damn it, Carmilla was pulling her own shirt over her head and her dark green bra was nearly see through and Laura couldn’t stop her mouth from sucking Carmilla’s nipples through the fabric.

 

A moan rumbled out of Carmilla, her hands finding the back of Laura’s head and pulling her tight against her. Laura’s hand slipped up, tugging down one of the cups of Carmilla’s bra. Her mouth found her nipple without a barrier and Carmilla’s back bowed upward as she flicked her tongue against it.

 

“Please...” Carmilla whined beneath her.

 

Laura felt drunk.

 

Her hand slipped beneath Carmilla’s back, unsnapping her bra and nearly ripping it from her shoulders when it wouldn't come off fast enough.

 

Carmilla tugged her upward, fastening their mouths together.

 

Laura couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her body was on fire, her skin sizzling. Carmilla’s hands slid down her back, nails digging into the muscle, and Laura’s hips bucked forward.

 

Both girls hissed at the friction, Carmilla’s fingers fumbling at the drawstring of Laura’s pajama pants.

 

Laura couldn’t wait.

 

She grabbed Carmilla by the wrist and shoved her hand down the front of her pants.

 

Carmilla’s eyes flashed at the movement, her free hand shooting up to Laura’s hair and tugging hard.

 

Laura cried out, the pain morphing into white hot pleasure.

 

“Look at me.”

 

 

–

 

 

“Look at me.”

 

Carmilla’s voice was so low, it didn’t even sound like her own. But Carmilla’s fingers were about to dip inside Laura, just brushing where she wanted, and she needed to see Laura’s eyes.

 

She wanted to remember it.

 

To see how Laura looked when she touched her.

 

Carmilla could feel a fresh flood of desire soak her already ruined underwear.

 

She ran her middle finger against Laura, testing.

 

Laura’s eyes slammed shut, her mouth letting out a high cry. Carmilla couldn’t stop the finger from pushing further, needing to see more, to feel more.

 

This girl that terrified her, made her want to flee, was also the most magnetizing person she’d ever met.

 

Carmilla had never felt so drawn to someone, so pulled in a way she couldn’t stop.

 

Too much.

 

Laura was too much.

 

Laura’s hips pressed down, taking Carmilla’s finger fully inside her. Carmilla’s heart stuttered in her chest at the heat of her.

 

“More.” Laura panted, grinding her hips against Carmilla’s hand.

 

Carmilla swore under her breath, close to coming at the sight of Laura above her. Her skin was flush, her neck red and sweaty. Her hair was a knotted mess, fisted in her hand and she gave it a tug to silently ask Laura to look at her.

 

She shifted, adding a second finger, and Laura’s eyes snapped open.

 

“Fuck. There.”

 

Carmilla growled as Laura’s hips moved with her hand, pulling her deeper with each motion.

 

Laura was so hot, so wet, Carmilla was nearly over the edge just from touching her.

 

She curved her fingers, Laura’s hips stilling as she did so.

 

“Carm, fuck.” Laura’s hips moved with new fervor, soft and delicate cries tumbling out of her mouth as she slumped forward. Laura’s face fell to Carmilla’s neck, her sounds puffing against Carmilla’s throat.

 

“Come on, Laura.”

 

The hand that had been painfully clenched in Laura’s hair slid free to cup the back of her neck. She rubbed gentle circles against the damp skin as Laura’s hips broke rhythm and rutted haphazardly against her knuckles. With a twist of her wrist, Carmilla managed to brush against Laura’s clit as she rode her fingers. The sensation was enough; Laura tightened atop of her, a stifled yell muffling against Carmilla’s throat.

 

“Don’t...stop...” Laura whined, still pumping her hips.

 

Carmilla gently rubbed at her, working the last tremors from Laura’s body and trying not to cry out herself as Laura’s thigh pressed sharply against her center.

 

“I can’t...” Laura’s hips wouldn’t stop moving but Carmilla could tell she was too sensitive. She was torn; Laura’s hands were holding her close, keeping her from moving her hand, but she seemed almost too raw to continue.

 

“Laura, what--”

 

Her question was cut off as Laura’s hand slid into her underwear.

 

Her fingers instantly brushed against her, finding her clit and circling it as if it was the only thing she was ever meant to do. Carmilla threw her head back, crippled by the pleasure.

 

“I can’t not touch you anymore.” Laura murmured against Carmilla’s ear, her circles getting tighter and tighter.

 

Carmilla’s hips thrust upward, her own fingers still trapped inside Laura.

 

“Laura...” Carmilla’s mind blanked out, her body slipping into autopilot. All she could do was feel.

 

Laura everywhere.

 

Laura inside her.

 

Laura splintering her cells apart with every brush.

 

Carmilla cried out, her body jerking as a finger slipped into her.

 

Thrust after methodical thrust and Carmilla was certain she was outside her body. The rhythm was too perfect, to constant; she wasn’t prepared. Her mind was wiped, her ears deadened, her limbs going limp as Laura played her like an instrument.

 

A muffled sound reached Carmilla’s ears but she couldn’t make it out; her body was too consumed by the feeling of Laura around her, in her, above her.

 

But the sound was Laura and Carmilla tried to fight the haze of pleasure to understand her.

 

She just wanted to understand her.

 

Another finger joined the first and Carmilla was bowing upward, aching as Laura pumped in and out.

 

“Mine.”

 

The word was husked against Carmilla’s throat, clear and hot and savage.

 

“Mine.”

 

Laura picked up the pace, paralyzing Carmilla with how good it felt.

 

Carmilla could only nod, her voice lost.

 

She canted her hips with Laura’s thrusts, her own fingers still buried inside Laura; the position was almost painful, almost overwhelming.

 

Almost too much.

 

“Mine.”

 

The word was high, broken.

 

Less possessive than it was questioning.

 

Carmilla could feel the edge coming, her body about to splinter apart at the seams.

 

Using the last of her strength, Carmilla tangled her fingers in Laura’s hair again. She tugged hard, once, and brought Laura’s gaze up to meet her own.

 

Her orgasm was crashing down, her vision fraying, but as Laura pressed into her, their eyes locked in the most desperate gaze Carmilla had ever felt, one word broke loose from her lips; exhausted, tired, and true.

 

“Yours.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. So. Okay. There's that. 
> 
> Hopefully that satisfied some of you. If not, well...Maybe next time. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading it, this is definitely the dirtiest fanfic thing I've ever done and any and all thoughts would be appreciated. Hope you enjoyed, ya wonderful thunderstorms.


	8. What's In A Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura have an awkward talk that's long overdue and Carmilla realizes just how much of herself is not her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, jeez. I'm always apologizing for delays in these, it seems.
> 
> I have no good excuses except that life got busy and hard and I felt a little stuck on this story. Fear not, I'd never leave it unfinished, and I figured out how to get it right where we need to be. Just had to wait for a little inspiration. Ain't time the healer of all wounds. Sorry that wait was a bit long, I'm back in it now! But I am so sorry for maybe scaring you. 
> 
> Hope ya dig it.

 

 

Steam curled around her, pressing damp against her skin and filling her lungs too heavy. It made her chest feel hot and laden, her limbs sticky and slick. Carmilla moved under the shower’s spray, ignoring that the water was too hot, ignoring how it pricked at her skin like small bee stings. She let it beat against her chest, her arms, her face; she let it wash over her like a numbing blanket.

 

Carmilla could feel herself sweating under the heat, the back of her neck dripping but not from the shower. Her left hand shot out and pressed against the damp tiles, steadying herself.

 

She felt weak.

 

Exhausted.

 

Overheated.

 

Fucked.

 

Completely and resolutely _fucked_. 

 

Carmilla turned, letting the water assault her back. She closed her eyes, dropping her head back so the stream could coat her hair. She inhaled, trying to ignore the light smell of gardenias, of vanilla, of Laura that swirled around her.

 

That lingered on her skin.

 

She shivered at the mere thought, at the memory.

 

Memories.

 

The booth in the pub; fast and a little angry and desperate and all consuming.

 

Against the bar; faster and shaking and over too quick.

 

The floor of Laura’s apartment; slow and loud and shattering and the sensation of thighs shuddering against her ears.

 

Carmilla’s heart sped, her body lighting up.

 

So many times, so quickly, and still so easily she wanted more.

 

“Carm?”

 

Carmilla started at Laura’s voice, her name so quiet.

 

It was soft, a breath. Nearly a whisper but also so certain.

 

Carmilla had never heard her name said that way before.

 

“Um, Carmilla?”

 

Laura’s voice was louder now and unsure, as if she wasn’t positive if Carmilla hadn’t heard her or was outright ignoring her.

 

As if Carmilla could ever ignore Laura saying her name.

 

She never wanted anyone but Laura to say it.

 

“Yes?” Carmilla managed, turning so her back was to the shower curtain.

 

“I’m leaving some clothes on the counter, if you’d like. Dry ones.”

 

Carmilla’s chest tightened.

 

“Thank you.” She managed, staring at the wet tiles in front of her, trying not to think of Laura in the swirling heat of the bathroom with her.

 

Carmilla wasn’t sure if she responded, couldn’t hear, but after a few moments she poked her head beyond the shower curtain to see a clumsily folded pile of clothes on the counter by the sink.

 

Laura’s clothes.

 

Carmilla slid the curtain closed and faced the overly hot shower once more.

 

She took a breath, ignored her tired limbs, and reached for the shampoo.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura was still slick with sweat. Her clothes felt loose, wrong, on her body. She wanted to go get in the shower with Carmilla, touch her again.

 

Maybe if they never stopped touching, they’d never have to discuss it.

 

Maybe if they never stopped touching, she’d have to stay.

 

Laura leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes as she listen to the shower run.

 

Walking into that steaming room, placing the clothes on the counter...It had been harder than she thought. After three – or was it four, five? - rounds of grade A fucking, Laura hadn’t anticipated her breath stalling at the outline of Carmilla’s body behind the shower curtain.

 

She hadn’t anticipated Carmilla’s silhouette to surprise her, to enthrall her with such startling intensity.

 

Laura had touched that body, and been touched by it in return. It should have lost its pull, its carnal hold on her.

 

But when Carmilla and Laura had been together, that had been a hurricane. It was hard and messy and destructive. It was possessive. It was animal. It was inevitable.

 

Carmilla in the shower, so soft and lithe and warm; Laura had not been anticipating wanting her so badly then.

 

A dark, cruel part of Laura wished that after everything, after finally having each other, she’d be done with it. Carmilla wouldn’t still draw her in. But that had proven to be untrue.

 

She knew it would be untrue the first time she met her.

 

Carmilla was the type of person you couldn’t look away from.

 

She was the type of person who could give you an addiction.

 

Without even meaning to.

 

Laura ran a hand over her face, feeling the dried salt from her sweat rub against her skin.

 

The door to the bathroom creaked open, the damp smell of shampoo curling into the room.

 

Laura turned toward the doorway and watched Carmilla pad softly into view.

 

She was wearing an old Arsenal jersey that Laura had stolen from her dad and a pair of soft sleep shorts that Laura hadn’t imagined would be quite so short on Carmilla’s pale legs.

 

Laura’s heart stuttered in her chest.

 

The Queen of England was wearing her clothes.

 

_Mine._

 

The word came unbidden, just as it had when she was making Carmilla moan.

 

Laura wished it hadn’t, wished it wasn’t what she thought of as she looked at Carmilla standing in her apartment, in her clothes, smelling of her shampoo.

 

But what other word _could_ she think?

 

Carmilla tugged at the edge of her shorts, triggering Laura to realize she was staring.

 

“I’m going to shower.” She nearly shouted, jumping up from the couch.

 

She shuffled to the doorway, Carmilla not moving before she got there. Instantly, they were face to face. Laura could feel the heat coming off of Carmilla’s skin, still smell the scent that was just her beneath Laura’s shampoo.

 

“Will you...are you...” Laura tried to make her mouth work, make the damn words come out, but she couldn’t.

 

She couldn’t ask.

 

She was afraid of the answer.

 

Carmilla’s warm fingers pressed lightly against the inside of Laura’s wrist.

 

A tremor went through Laura, her body aching to just kiss her again.

 

_Kiss her and you’ll never have to talk._

 

_Kiss her and she won’t ever tell you she can’t be with you._

 

_Kiss her until you’ve had your fill and maybe it won’t hurt._

 

“I’ll be here when you get out.”

 

Carmilla’s voice was steady.

 

Regal.

 

It assured Laura as much as it discomforted her.

 

With a nod, she slipped her wrist away and headed to the bathroom.

 

 

–

 

 

When Carmilla was two years old, she’d come down with a dangerously high fever. While word about her illness hadn’t reached the press, the palace had been buzzing about the sick little princess.

 

Carmilla didn’t remember it, she’d barely been old enough to talk, but during those few days, when doctors had watched her every breath, was when her father gave her a nickname.

 

_My Little ‘Milla._

 

It had stuck.

 

‘ _Milla_ was what her father had called her until his death. It was what her brother used to mock her. It was what her mother hissed to scold her. It was how the Prime Minister had been introduced to her and dignitaries had been instructed to refer to her.

 

Little ‘Milla Karnstein.

 

The small princess who nearly died.

 

Carmilla had hated it. It wasn’t her name. Her name was Carmilla, not some short, sweetened moniker that made her sound weak.

 

‘Milla was small.

 

‘Milla was childish.

 

‘Milla was owned.

 

“Carmilla?”

 

Carmilla’s head snapped up. Laura was in the doorway, wrapped in a towel. Her damp hair hung around her shoulders, dripping onto her tanned skin. Carmilla’s hand gripped the edge of the couch cushion to keep from lurching out of her seat and pressing Laura against the nearest wall.

 

_You can’t._

 

_You shouldn’t have._

 

_You could do it again, and again._

 

“I’ll...I’ll just be a minute, okay?”

 

Laura’s voice was low, rough from yelling.

 

_From crying out as she came._

 

The thought sent shivers through Carmilla but she made herself nod.

 

Laura slipped away at her understanding, disappearing into her bedroom.

 

Carmilla’s eyes glanced to the front door.

 

She could leave.

 

It was possible.

 

She’d been thinking about it as Laura showered.

 

Just get up, walk out, never look back.

 

‘Milla would.

 

‘Milla would run and hide and ignore the ache in her stomach.

 

‘Milla would leave Laura to wonder, to question why the Queen was so callous.

 

Maybe she should be ‘Milla.

 

Perhaps she was always meant to be that weak, sick girl.

 

Maybe that fever so young had broken her.

 

Maybe she could only make a mess of things.

 

It’d be easy to.

 

Carmilla let her eyes stay on the door, heart in her throat.

 

_Do you see that, ‘Milla?_

 

_That throne will be yours one day, won’t that be lovely?_

 

_Little ‘Milla with a crown on her head and the world at her feet._

 

The memory stung, her father’s hushed reverence filling her head. She’d been delighted at the time, laughing as he bowed to her and pretended to be a knight.

 

The world at her feet, that’s how her father had viewed being King.

 

Powerful.

 

Strong.

 

Steady.

 

How was little ‘Milla supposed to match that?

 

How could she, when she could barely brave to speak to the girl that had shifted that world in so little time?

 

The door loomed across the room.

 

Unlocked.

 

‘Milla would run.

 

She could just be ‘Milla.

 

Obedient.

 

Small.

 

Destructive.

 

It wouldn’t be hard.

 

“Carm?”

 

Carmilla’s head jerked back to see Laura moving toward the couch. She had a notebook in her hand, a pen tapping nervously against the pages. She sank down next to Carmilla, the space between them large for how small the couch was.

 

Carmilla felt her own posture straighten, her hands folding delicately in her lap as her body fell into a practiced position.

 

Laura cleared her throat, looking down at the open notebook in her hands.

 

Carmilla didn’t know what to make of it but she knew she didn’t care for it.

 

She never liked being interviewed.

 

But as Laura swallowed, her effortless charm and confidence somehow missing, Carmilla sighed.

 

Perhaps it was no easier on Laura’s end.

 

“It seems you have some questions.” Carmilla prompted, her voice less inviting than she intended.

 

She’d spoken though.

 

She had gotten the words out.

 

_Little ‘Milla with a crown on her head and the world at her feet._

 

Carmilla swallowed the memory, bringing her focus on the nervous girl in front of her.

 

Little ‘Milla had her chance.

 

Only Carmilla was here now.

 

Carmilla, the Queen of England.

 

“Where would you like to start?”

 

 

–

 

 

Laura felt foolish walking into the room with a notebook of hastily scribbled questions but she didn’t know how else to quiet her mind.

 

Her shower had been anything but relaxing; question after question whirred through her brain, each more terrifying than the next. She couldn't stop thinking until the water had run cold, her knees knocking together as she shivered under the cool spray.

 

When she’d gone to her room to get dressed, she’d thrown on the first clean set of clothes she could find and immediately began jotting down all her concerns. She couldn’t keep track of them all. They poured out of her like whiskey into a glass. Smooth and tired and inevitable.

 

As she stared at Carmilla, taking in how ridged she was, how queenly, Laura had second guessed bringing the notebook out with her at all.

 

Maybe the entire conversation was best to avoid.

 

Maybe she could just ask Carmilla to leave, both never see each other again, and sometimes think fondly on that odd few weeks long ago.

 

“It seems you have some questions.”

 

Carmilla’s voice was tight, forced and overly polite.

 

“Where would you like to start?”

 

Laura took a breath, looking down to the scribbled words in her lap.

 

Where _did_ she want to start?

 

“Why my bar?”

 

That question hadn’t been one she’d written, but it had been one she’d thought several times since meeting Carmilla.

 

The Queen of England had walked into her bar.

 

It was the beginning of joke.

 

Not the beginning of...whatever was happening between them.

 

Carmilla shrugged noncommittally.

 

“You’re within walking distance of the palace grounds. You aren’t on busy street. You didn’t have a flashy sign or a very obvious entrance. And my brother has never been thrown out of here for harassing the waitresses.”

 

Laura laughed softly at the last bit, the tightness in her chest unfurling a few notches. She nodded, looking to the questions in her lap only to glance back up at Carmilla.

 

“I’ve made this very formal, haven’t I?” Laura closed the notebook and tossed it onto the coffee table. She slumped against the couch cushions and covered her face in her hands.

 

“It’s probably obvious but I don’t do this very often.”

 

Laura could hear Carmilla shift in front of her.

 

“Oddly, I don’t usually submit to post-coital interviews often either.”

 

Laura’s hands dropped from her face, her jaw falling slack. She reached over and shoved Carmilla in the shoulder, causing the other girl to loosen and let out a breath of a laugh.

 

“I can’t believe you’re mocking me. How can you be mocking me?”

 

Carmilla relaxed further, her hands unclasping and reaching to pull a pillow against her chest. She shrugged, picking at a loose bead on the pillow's edge.

 

“I’m rather uncomfortable, Laura. Forgive me.”

 

Laura was taken aback.

 

She wasn’t alone her discomfort then, it seemed.

 

Hesitantly, carefully, Laura touched the back of Carmilla’s hand. Carmilla stopped her fidgeting at the contact, her eyes flashing up to Laura’s.

 

“I’m glad you stayed. I...I was worried in the shower that...that you might...”

 

“I thought about it.” Carmilla rushed, her words fast like a child caught in a lie. “I kept thinking it would be better if I just left and never came back.”

 

Laura’s fingers moved to hook in Carmilla’s own.

 

The connection seemed to ground the pair of them.

 

“But you keep coming back.”

 

Carmilla nodded, her eyes still locked with Laura.

 

“I do.”

 

“Why?”

 

The question hung around them like smoke.

 

It had been the word that Laura had scribbled in her notebook more than anything else.

 

_Why?_

 

_Why her?_

 

_Why Laura?_

 

Laura was a bartender of a floundering pub. Her livelihood was slipping away, her apartment barely passed as livable, and she...well, she was a mess.

 

Awake at odd hours, covered in spilled beer, exhausted in every conceivable way.

 

Why the hell did the Queen of England keep coming back to her?

 

Laura had felt the question needling since Carmilla’s first return.

 

What the hell did Carmilla see in her?

 

Carmilla stared at her a long moment, her dark eyes clear and sharp and intense. Laura could feel heat bloom in her chest, working it’s way up her neck. She wanted to shift under Carmilla’s heavy gaze, wanted to get up and walk around just to calm the anxiousness that rose up in her.

 

Time seemed to slow, Laura’s heartbeat loud and warm in her ears. Seconds or minutes seem to slip by, all the while Carmilla still looking.

 

Laura listened to her breathing and closed her eyes on the next exhale. She felt her body want to fidget, attempting to squirm out of hearing whatever answer Carmilla could give. Asking questions had always been in her nature but hearing answers she didn’t like was not. Laura wanted to pace, jump, fly away from the question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

 

But Laura stayed. She sat still and let Carmilla look at her.

 

And she hoped.

 

She hoped Carmilla found something worth seeing.

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla thought she couldn’t place why.

 

That was her first instinct.

 

She didn’t have a lot of experience with answering “why” questions.

 

_If someone has to ask why, you have not been clear enough. You should be succinct and direct so that no further questioning it needed._

 

Her mother’s instructions came to mind.

 

“Why” questions meant she had done something incorrectly.

 

“Why” questions meant she had not spoken well enough.

 

“Why” questions meant she had failed.

 

Carmilla knew she had. She and Laura had only a handful of conversations, a few drunken nights, one morning of hot, needy sex. But the in-betweens, the moments where they had not been together, and even some when they had, in those Carmilla too had wondered why.

 

Why this girl?

 

Why couldn’t she stay away from this copper eyed bartender in a shitty pub?

 

Carmilla had never been good at “why” questions. But as she looked at Laura, watched her face etch with worry and discomfort and nerves, Carmilla felt the answer bloom in her chest. It filled up her lungs, sank into her bones, wove through her arteries.

 

It had been there since the day they met.

 

She liked her.

 

She just _liked_ her.

 

Carmilla had liked Laura instantly.

 

Carmilla never liked anyone.

 

But Laura…

 

“You make me feel like Carmilla.”

 

The words fell out and Carmilla hadn’t actually meant to say them. Out of context, she realized they didn’t quite make sense. The confusion on Laura’s face cemented that fact.

 

Carmilla swallowed, looking for the rest of her thought.

 

But it was so big.

 

Complicated.

 

She was little ‘Milla.

 

A little fool.

 

She was Princess.

 

Then Queen.

 

She is little ‘Milla with a crown on her head and the world at her feet.

 

“I’ve never...I’ve never heard my name and thought it fit me.” Carmilla tried, taking Laura’s hand firmly in her own.

 

“My father called me...” Carmilla’s voice wobbled over the past tense, but she pressed on, “he called me ‘Milla. My brother does too. My mother uses it like a knife. The press use my name after my title, something tacked on the end like a period or a quotation mark. But you say my name, and it feels like mine. It feels like I’m not a headline or a political chess piece or a child.”

 

Carmilla had started fidgeting with Laura’s fingers, her eyes watching as Laura let her hand be fiddled with.

 

“I’ve never heard my name and thought _I’m glad that’s mine_. And you didn’t say it, for the longest time. You kept avoiding it. And uh, I just...” Carmilla cursed herself, stuttering and fragmented as if she hadn’t spent years learning to speak well. She took a breath.

 

“I just wanted to hear you say it, I think. I wanted to hear _how_ you said it. But then you did and...and….”

 

_And then we fucked on every surface we could find._

 

Carmilla closed her eyes, ignoring the thought.

 

“You make me feel like Carmilla. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like myself before. Even before you said my name, you made me feel that way. And now you’ve said it.”

 

Carmilla looked up, her eyes catching Laura’s. The expression on Laura’s face was a hundred different things. Carmilla felt exposed, a raw nerve ready to be stabbed. She swallowed.

 

“I don’t know what exactly will happen if you stop saying it, actually.”

 

Laura’s hand tightened in Carmilla’s.

 

The world at her feet.

 

“Frankly, I don’t want to find out.”

 

Laura’s whole body relaxed. She deflated fully before throwing herself at Carmilla, engulfing her a hug. Carmilla hadn’t been anticipating it and she slumped backward, leaning at an odd angle into the back of the couch as Laura breathed near her ear.

 

“Oh, Carm.” Laura sighed against her.

 

And Carmilla felt like herself once more.

 

 

–

 

 

“This isn’t a fake number, is it?”

 

Laura kept thinking of how she’d made Carmilla text her to ensure the number was real. She blushed at the thought, embarrassed by her desperation, but she did not want to be tossed aside after everything.

 

Not that she thought Carmilla would.

 

But it didn’t hurt to verify, just in case.

 

Still, the question did make her a little sheepish to think of now that Carmilla had left.

 

Laura was working the books in her kitchen, writing checks that she hoped wouldn’t bounce and staunchly ignoring her very silent phone.

 

Carmilla had only left a few hours ago.

 

It wasn’t like they made plans to chat or anything.

 

But there was only so much one conversation could clarify and after Carmilla’s startling revelation, Laura still wasn’t quite sure where they stood.

 

They had been together, as physically close as you could be with another person.

 

For goodness' sake, she’d been knuckle deep in the _fucking Queen of England_.

 

Laura shivered at the memory.

 

They’d been together but Laura was certain they were not _together_.

 

And she _wasn’t_ certain if they were going to repeat that particular encounter.

 

She hoped they did.

 

God, how she hoped they did.

 

Laura had never felt like that with anyone.

 

Ever.

 

It was electric. 

 

Consuming. 

 

Addictive. 

 

Laura closed her eyes, swiping a hand over her face as she attempted to stop thinking. She blinked a few times, looking down at the swimming numbers before her. She glanced at her phone laying idle beside her left hand.

 

She picked it up and typed out a message before she could think better of it.

 

_**Drink tomorrow night?** _

 

Laura hit send, her heart in her throat.

 

Within seconds, her phone buzzed.

 

_**Speech tomorrow afternoon. Would be late. Maybe just tea this time?** _

 

Laura laughed, blush rising to her cheeks at the memory of her brandy drunk self from weeks ago.

 

_**No alcohol. Promise. You’ll come?** _

 

A minute passed, one that had Laura rethinking every letter in every word she sent. Then, the vibration of a response.

 

_**Leave the door unlocked.** _

 

Laura sighed, dropping her phone back on the table.

 

She ran a hand through her hair, her insides alight with flutters.

 

Leave the door unlocked.

 

Laura shook her head.

 

She tried not to think about how she technically couldn’t lock the pub door since the lock was broken.

 

She tried not to think about how it was broken because of Carmilla.

 

Laura tried not to read into the metaphor of that, but as she started up balancing her books again, she couldn’t wipe the smile from her face as she kept thinking of the open door a floor below her.

 

 

–

 

 

“You think very little for my nerves.”

 

Carmilla rolled her eyes, reading over the speech she was to give the next day.

 

“You exaggerate, Lola.”

 

Lola Perry whirled around on her heel, finger pointed angrily as Carmilla.

 

“You try reworking a schedule that has been meticulously curated by your mother, Parliament, and myself.”

 

Carmilla scoffed at her assistant.

 

“Try living it.” She mumbled, flipping to the next page of her speech. Lola didn’t seem to hear her, or at the very least politely pretended not to.

 

“Your mother is one error away from having me fired, I hope you know. Disappearing for a whole morning...You can’t be doing that, not without warning me. I can only fix so much when I don’t find out there’s fixing needed until you don’t appear where you’re supposed to be!”

 

Carmilla watched fondly as Lola marched around the room, weaving in and out of the furniture in a practiced frenzy.

 

Carmilla did admit she felt bad for throwing Lola into a tailspin but she’d forgotten to text her that she needed her morning cleared.

 

Laura had fogged up her brain. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

 

Truthfully, she still wasn’t.

 

Laura had texted her earlier and asked her to come over again tomorrow.

 

Carmilla still wasn’t sure where they stood, what exactly was happening between them, but she was relieved to get to see her again. Like she’d been holding her breath and finally got to exhale again. It was a release she hadn’t been aware she was desperate for.

 

“You found a perfectly legitimate excuse without warning. You’re worth every cent, Lola.”

 

Lola stopped her pacing and planted her hands on her hips.

 

“You’re lucky your mother wasn’t supposed to be at that meeting.”

 

Carmilla smirked. “I think you mean _we’re_  lucky.”

 

Lola huffed, her red curls bouncing as she dropped herself onto the closest couch.

 

“Do try to tell me if I’m going to be in a scramble, your majesty. I live to serve but even I need forewarning.”

 

Carmilla nodded, catching Lola’s eye. “I do appreciate it.”

 

Lola sighed, standing again as she reached in her pocked for one of her many phones. She began tapping away on it, heading toward the door, and staunchly ignored Carmilla’s quiet thanks.

 

Lola Perry had never been one to accept praise.

 

“Your brother will be back tonight, to be seen tomorrow at the unveiling. The Prime Minister can’t see you before the speech tomorrow but he’ll be there. And your mother should be by shortly to discuss some last minute changes to the speech. Once you’ve seen them, I’ll send off the copy for approval.”

 

Lola rattled the information off and Carmilla felt a bloom of fondness in her chest.

 

She’d been Carmilla assistant as long as Carmilla could remember.

 

There was comfort in her nervous demeanor and anxious speech pattern.

 

“Thank you, Lola.”

 

With an awkward curtsy that almost made Carmilla laugh, Lola ducked out the room without looking up from her blinking phone.

 

Carmilla shook her head, focusing back on the text for her speech.

 

Tomorrow, a statue of her father was to be revealed in Hyde Park, commemorating his life and legacy. Carmilla was to give a speech at the small opening ceremony; something simple and demure and stifling. Though the thought of publicly speaking about her father made her hands shake, Carmilla was pleased with the statue's design.

 

It was based off a famous photo of her father, one where he had been laughing after falling off his horse. He’d hopped back to his feet after the incident and patted the horse as if to give it a reward for unseating him. The statue was that moment; the King laughing as he pet his horse’s neck, his eyes shut in delight at life’s many mishaps.

 

The inscription was to read _King Richard the Joyful._

 

It suited him.

 

Carmilla let that moniker sooth the sting of his absence, her eyes flicking over the speech she was to give.

 

It was all fluff mostly, puff about her father while actually saying very little about him. She skimmed over the words, ignoring how each “was” and “did” and “used to” needled into her lungs. She’d nearly made it through when a knock came at the door, followed by a swift opening and the sweeping entrance of her mother.

 

“You haven’t practiced your speech.”

 

It wasn’t framed as a question, more an accusation, and Carmilla fought the bristle that went through her.

 

“I am reading it as we speak, mother.”

 

Lilita clicked her tongue disapprovingly before situating herself in the chair across from Carmilla’s desk.

 

“Do you have any edits?”

 

Carmilla sighed, folding her hands on the desk.

 

“I have not finished it yet, but thus far nothing seems out of line.”

 

A look flashed across her mother’s face, sharp and pleased, and it sent a shiver spiking down Carmilla’s spine.

 

She’d missed something.

 

What had she missed?

 

Sweat pulsed across her body, the back of her neck growing clammy.

 

“I must say, I’m rather surprised. But I’m pleased you agree with my choices.”

 

Before Carmilla had time to gather her thoughts, to form some sort of plan to find out exactly what her mother was so delighted by, Lilita was standing and moving back toward the door.

 

“I look forward to hearing you say it.” Lilita looked back at Carmilla once her hand was on the doorknob. “Your speech. The closing will make an impact, I’m certain.” With a final smirk, she swept out of the room, leaving Carmilla with her swirling panic.

 

The closing?

 

Carmilla’s eyes fastened to the page in front of her, frantically trying to get to the end.

 

She felt her stomach drop as her eyes took in the last few lines.

 

_It was my honor to watch my father rule. He is the type of monarch any would be lucky to be compared to. He wore the crown and his name with pride and ease. I hope to honor his memory by emulating his legacy as I start my own. It is with great humility I take his mother’s name as my own when I am crowned._

 

_In tribute to my father, I will be henceforth Queen Mircalla Karnstein, daughter of King Richard the Joyful._

 

Carmilla’s stomach felt full of stones.

 

Her name.

 

Her mother had taken her name.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura shoved a spoonful of cereal into her mouth, wandering with the spoon sticking out from between her lips as she plopped onto her couch. She clicked on the TV, letting the news softly play as she popped another bite of the sugary flakes into her mouth.

 

The TV was background noise, low volume from the last time she’d fallen asleep watching it, but one name caught her attention.

 

“Queen Carmilla is heading to Hyde Park this afternoon to unveil a statue of late King Richard. This will be the new monarch’s first public speech since the passing of her father.”

 

The newscaster moved onto the next topic, a tourist thrown off a bus for something or other, but all Laura could focus on was Carmilla.

 

It was her first big moment as the monarch.

 

Laura looked at the clock on her wall.

 

She could get to Hyde Park for the unveiling.

 

She tapped her spoon against the side of her cereal bowl.

 

Was that allowed? Was it okay for her to go see Carmilla give a speech?

 

She _was_ a citizen after all. King Richard had been her king, too. No reason she couldn’t go see the new Queen in action.

 

Before Laura could talk herself out of it, she had rushed to throw on decent clothes and left her cereal to get soggy.

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla stood in front of the statue. It was currently covered by a thin white sheet that would be removed right at the end of her speech.

 

Her speech.

 

She was nearly through it.

 

It had gone like clockwork.

 

The press snapping photos of her, shoving cameras and microphones in her face to record it, her mother off to her right watching and watching and watching.

 

Carmilla had made it through so far without blunder.

 

But the end was coming.

 

The dreaded end.

 

Carmilla’s end and Mircalla’s beginning.

 

It made her stomach turn.

 

She finished her last paragraph, glancing down at the sheet before it.

 

It was now.

 

The end of Carmilla was now.

 

“It was my honor to watch my father rule. He is the type of monarch any would be lucky to be compared to. He wore the crown and his name with pride and ease. I hope to honor his memory by emulating his legacy as I start my own.”

 

Carmilla looked up, readying to lay herself to rest.

 

And there she was.

 

Her breath stuttered in her chest, just for a moment, just for a heartbeat.

 

Because Laura was in the crowd, smiling up at her with those big brown eyes and flashing her the proudest smile Carmilla had ever seen. It made Carmilla’s whole body thrum. Laura gave a dorky thumbs up and mouthed “Go Carm!”.

 

Carm.

 

Carmilla.

 

Her name.

 

Carmilla looked down at the text before her and back up at the small sea of people. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her back, boring into her. She could feel the weight of the cameras, hear the rustle of the white sheet over the statue, and she glanced at it.

 

It loomed so much taller than her.

 

Perhaps her father always would.

 

_Little 'Milla._

 

She glanced down at the end of the speech and took a breath.

 

She folded up the papers and looked out into the crowd.

 

At Laura.

 

“My father was a great man. He loved my brother and I fiercely, the way he loved his kingdom. He used to call me little ‘Milla. It is a name that used to bother me, but now that I cannot hear him say it, find I’ve grown fond of it. It is for this reason, in honor of my late father, our late King, I will keep the name he gave me when I am officially crowned.”

 

Carmilla took a breath.

 

“I am and will always be proud to be Queen Carmilla Karnstein, daughter of King Richard the Joyful.”

 

Without looking at her mother, Carmilla turned and tugged the white sheet from her father’s statue.

 

As it fluttered to the ground and as the late king loomed large above her, Carmilla could hear applause break out behind her.

 

And as Carmilla stared up at her father’s laughing face, Carmilla felt like herself once more.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla's growing up! She didn't listen to her mom! I repeat a lot of words in my writing! ALL FUN THINGS.
> 
> OH MAN this chapter gave me a hard time. I'm really pleased with how it turned out though so I hope you guys enjoyed it. Sorry the wait was so long (again). I swear one day I won't be a shitty fic updater. But today is NOT THAT DAY.
> 
> Let me know what you thought in the comments! You guys are always the hot damn diggity best. 
> 
> May you all eat three donuts today.


	9. Tread Lightly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What goes up, must come down. Carmilla and Laura both realize they are in too deep, as the world starts stacking against them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE. 
> 
> Welp, after that little-tiny-super-not-long-at-all-definitely-was-really-fast wait, here's a new chapter.
> 
> You guys are quite honestly the nicest of nice and I promise I'll never abandon this story, I'm just shitty at updating. I hope it was worth the wait. Dunno. We will find out. 
> 
> Enjoy, y'all!

 

 

 

Carmilla could not describe the emotion that coursed through her.

 

She had never felt like that before.

 

The cheering crowd, the shine off her father’s statue, the knowledge Laura was there watching; it echoed around in her chest and swelled up into near euphoria.

 

She felt like a Queen.

 

It was new.

 

Intense.

 

Not unpleasant.

 

Carmilla _liked_ the feeling.

 

That was a development she had not foreseen.

 

She liked talking with the reporters after, answering their questions as honestly as she could. She liked speaking to the crowd, letting her voice carry words that were her own. She liked standing alongside her father’s figure, following in his footsteps to become something bigger than herself.

 

No, she had not foreseen that coming at all.

 

All her life, her position had been something she wasn’t sure of. Heir to a throne that was more pomp and circumstance than actual power, Carmilla in her teenage years had wanted to little to with it. She’d enjoyed playing pretend as a child, imaging herself on a throne with knights swearing fealty to her and defeating her enemies with justice and honor. But when the reality sank in, that the throne would be hers at the loss of her father, Carmilla was immediately uninterested.

 

When he died, the fear and dread that had been simmering beneath her skin ignited. She was consumed by sadness, grief and anger and loss, but unfairly beneath all of that was the bone crushing terror.

 

She was the Queen.

 

And she never wanted to be, never saw herself as one.

 

Until today.

 

Until that feeling flooded her veins, until she had seen her peoples’ faces, until she had seen Laura looking up at her like she was someone worth seeing.

 

Carmilla wanted to be Queen.

 

A desire that now burned behind her lungs as though it was a spark that finally caught flame.

 

Yet, even with that new feeling, Carmilla was aware her wants were not the only ones that existed.

 

The tension that filled the back of the state car was clear enough indication of that, but her mother was never one for subtlety.

 

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

 

Carmilla stared out the window, watching as the trees blurred into a mass of green and yellow and copper. She could feel the hum of the car, the way the tires ground against the gravel, how the leather seat stuck to her skin. She focused on the feelings, sinking into them, in effort to escape what she knew was about to be an onslaught of belittling. She just wanted to hold on to the good feeling for a little longer.

 

“You are just like him.”

 

Her mother’s voice was a hiss, angry and sharp and poisonous; filled with distaste and annoyance.

 

She could not be escaped.

 

The powerful feeling receded, slipping from her like sand through a sieve.

 

_You are just like him._

 

It wasn’t a compliment.

 

Carmilla knew that.

 

From the Prime Minister, it would have been a sweet endearment.

 

From her brother, it would be an amiable jab.

 

But from her mother…

 

It was no compliment.

 

It was meant to wound.

 

“Am I?” Carmilla offered her, never taking her eyes from the window.

 

She could feel it vanishing, the empowered swell of confidence. Her mother was circling, like a predator readying to make the kill. Carmilla felt the tightness in her throat, the tension in her shoulders.

 

Carmilla wanted to fiddle with her fingers, hold her own hand.

 

She didn’t.

 

She knew it would only make matters worse, provide another target for her mother’s cutting words.

 

“You think they see you?”

 

Her mother’s voice was mocking; still tight but ever so smug. She knew she had hit a weak spot. It took everything Carmilla had not to look at her.

 

_Do not give her the satisfaction._

 

_Do not let her win._

 

_This is your day, your father’s day, not hers._

 

“Oh yes, they love you now. The bright little princess who became a young queen. How lovely she is, how fresh and new.”

 

Carmilla could feel the words lancing through her, chipping away at the fleeting joy she had felt.

 

She kept her eyes toward the window.

 

“Now let’s not forget her indiscretion at her father’s funeral, no, of course they wouldn’t. They will paint you as bettered and braver and stable.”

 

Trees melted into houses into buildings into blurs. Carmilla couldn’t focus on them, her heart racing in her chest.

 

“But your little stunt will not go unnoticed. They will root out your weaknesses, pick apart your flaws, exploit you for every pound they can.”

 

Carmilla’s left hand clenched into a fist, her nails biting into the palm of her hand.

 

_Do not look at her._

 

_Do not look at her._

 

_Do not look at her._

 

_Do not let her win._

 

“Because they don’t _see_ you, darling. They use you. You are a prop. A pet. A body to be trampled.”

 

Carmilla closed her eyes.

 

She could feel her mother shifting next to her; small, fine, movements that gave away the anger her words so silkily hid.

 

“You should not count on them to support you. You recall how easily they turned on you before.”

 

Carmilla’s eyes snapped opened, her heart thumping uncomfortably in her chest.

 

Before.

 

_Before._

 

She should have known her mother would bring it up after one of the most validating days of her life.

 

Her father’s funeral. The supposed drunkenness. The unflattering photos of her with the words “ROYAL BITCH” slapped across them. They had all been damaging, hurtful things that stung as they were flung at her.

 

But it was not what her mother was referring to.

 

Carmilla felt her palms sweat, her teeth pressing together as she clenched her jaw.

 

 _Before_.

 

She did not like to think about before. She’d spent many years attempting to forget about before.

 

Laura made her forget about before.

 

Lilita’s voice came again.

 

“Tread lightly, darling.”

 

_Tread lightly._

 

A veiled threat.

 

Thinly, but veiled.

 

A warning.

 

Or a promise.

 

About the press, yes.

 

They were snakes hidden in tall grass, hunting for easy kills and low hanging fruit. Carmilla had watched her entire life be picked apart by them; what she wore, how she stood, who she would become. She was used to the scrutiny, the hypocrisy, of their praise and knew how to weather the sharpness of their cruelty.

 

Carmilla was all too aware of the danger of scandal, of misstep, of mistake.

 

_Tread lightly._

 

Carmilla knew to watch the press.

 

Then, it was cold realization that struck her.

 

The warning wasn’t about the media at all.

 

It was about her _mother_.

 

A small, needling reminder that she was watching.

 

And that Carmilla should remember that.

 

The threat hung in the air between them, heavy and cold and isolating.

 

Carmilla could feel the last of her previous joy flicker out.

 

Today she had wanted to be Queen.

 

As Carmilla refocused her gaze out the window, ignoring the tingling in the tips of her fingers that made her hands shake, she remembered what Queen’s used to be.

 

She had forgotten that in all the stories she’d once loved, Queens had enemies.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura closed the door to her apartment and slumped against it, exhaustion seeping into her bones and weighting her limbs. Her right arm was still sore, burned from stumbling against a scalding skillet in the chaos of the kitchen, and she instinctively brought her left hand up to ghost along the gauze Wilson had hastily covered it with. She knew she needed to let it breath and see how bad the damage was but all she could think about was how damn exhausted she was.

 

She had not been anticipating the pub to be so busy.

 

Not that she was complaining; she could use the money.

 

She could use the money really, _really_ badly.

 

It seemed Carmilla’s speech at the dedication had inspired some low grade patriotism, sending people out to have celebratory drinks. When Laura had returned from Hyde Park, there had been a cluster of people huddling outside; a few old men and a couple of college students.

 

She had to stifle a laugh at the fact they were waiting next to an unlocked door.

 

As soon as she’d let them in and opened up shop, more and more people had poured in.

 

All were talking about the new Queen.

 

Something in Carmilla speech had sent a buzz through the city. The cloud of King Richard’s passing that had hung over everything seemed to lift some small, yet monumental amount. All anyone had wanted to do was hunker down in the worn booths and watch the news coverage recapping the seemingly menial event.

 

Laura hadn’t realize just how important Carmilla’s first speech would be.

 

She was glad she had gone.

 

Carmilla had been so confident, so certain. She seemed capable, respectable, impressive; someone who would not embarrass the nation as their symbol. She’d taken what could have been a monotonous and dour event and somehow shifted it into an uplifting, hopeful morning of promise.

 

A transformation from mourning to new birth.

 

And Laura had gotten to see that transformation in real time.

 

To see Carmilla’s transformation.

 

Because that’s what it was, what everyone was talking about.

 

The woman who started that speech was not the same woman who ended it. It had been plain as day to Laura, something she thought she had witnessed alone, but from the news coverage and the conversations in her pub, the rest of the nation had seen it too.

 

Laura was just so _proud_ of her...friend?

 

Is that what they were?

 

The word felt wrong.

 

Small.

 

Not enough.

 

Yet too much.

 

Laura sighed, shaking the thought, and trudged the rest of the way into her apartment. Her feet dragged as she lugged herself into her bedroom, not even bothering to take her shoes off as she flopped onto her bed. Her arm still hurt, stinging something fierce as she accidentally rolled onto it, but she couldn’t find the energy to change the bandage. Carefully, she flipped onto her left side and settled against her pillows.

 

She just needed a little rest before Carmilla was supposed to show up.

 

_Carmilla._

 

_Drinks._

 

Laura smiled at the thought, her body nearly melting into the bed as she wondered when Carmilla would arrive. She’d left the door open, hopefully she’d just let herself in. She didn’t seem to have a problem with that before.

 

She couldn’t wait to ask her about the dedication. Laura wanted to hear all Carmilla’s thoughts on it, to let her know how wonderful she had been, how much everyone had loved her.

 

Because they did, Laura realized.

 

A nation had fallen in love with Carmilla that morning.

 

Barely ten minutes, that’s all it took.

 

One speech, one moment, and they were all hers.

 

It hadn’t taken long at all.

 

_They fell hard and fast for the Queen of England._

 

As Laura drifted off, Carmilla still swirling in her head, she wondered if she was any different than they were.

 

 

–

 

 

“Your majesty?”

 

Carmilla was just tucking a letter from a German ambassador into a file folder on her desk, preparing to head to her quarters until it was late enough to sneak away.

 

To sneak to Laura.

 

After her mother, she just wanted to see Laura. She couldn’t place why. But the instant she had escaped the car ride with her mother, Carmilla had been nearly desperate to see her, as if she could calm her through the shaking state her mother had left her in.

 

The thought sent a strange fluttering loose in her chest. She shook her head, willing that to go away, and turned toward who had spoken.

 

J.P. stood in her doorway, all fine tailoring and salt and pepper hair. Carmilla smiled at him, a welcome disturbance in contrast to the thought of her mother standing there.

 

“J.P. I trust you’re well.”

 

He gave a quick nod, his eyes falling to his shoes only to snap back up.

 

Carmilla noticed the furrow of his brow, the tightness of his shoulders. She leaned back against her desk, crossing her arms, suspicious.

 

“Unless you are not well, which seems to be the case.”

 

He relaxed slightly at her call out, a long sigh accompanying it.

 

“I know we have an arrangement...”

 

Carmilla nearly laughed at his phrasing. She’d have mocked him for it usually, she’d know J.P. since birth, but the way his voice strained gave her pause. In all her years of knowing him, she had never seen him worried. She didn’t care to see it now.

 

He took a tentative step closer, quietly shutting the door behind him as he did so.

 

The action did little to settle Carmilla’s growing concern.

 

“Ma’am, your brother is on his way back to Windsor. Still on his...quiet holiday as you requested.”

 

Carmilla nodded. She knew that; William had made a strong show of pouting as she’d told him he was to stay there a few more weeks. She’d heard rumblings of him trying to escape and seduce a group of Italian exchange students. He was not ready to be released from his heavily watched timeout yet. He still needed to learn his actions had consequences for more than just himself.

 

“I’m aware. Did he cause more trouble?”

 

J.P. shook his head. “No, no, ma’am it isn’t that.”

 

Carmilla studied J.P. as he fidgeted before her. She’d never seen him so uneasy. It made her feel on edge as well.

 

“Out with it, please. All these long pauses are a bit dramatic for my taste.”

 

At her words, J.P. straightened into the seasoned man she knew he was. He adjusted his tie and met her gaze with a steely one of his own.

 

“We need to reassess our arrangement, your majesty. Your brother is headed away. You have just made your first public appearance as Queen. Paparazzi and reporters will be rougher than ever. We have all ready caught several attempting to sneak onto the grounds. We need to tighten security. It is no longer safe for you to participate in your nightly walks.”

 

He took a breath, one where Carmilla could see his resolve falter before he reigned himself in.

 

“I insist they end immediately and that your personal guards be increased.”

 

She should have seen it coming.

 

That was what hit Carmilla first.

 

_Tread lightly._

 

The thin ice of her autonomy seemed to be cracking around her. Carmilla could feel her throat tightening, panic simmering in the base of her spine.

 

No more walks.

 

No more freedom.

 

No more Laura.

 

The last thought was a stone sinking into the pit of her stomach.

 

No more Laura.

 

Carmilla’s jaw tightened.

 

No more Laura.

 

_Unacceptable._

 

Carmilla moved from her perch against the desk, drawing herself up to her full height. It wasn’t much, but she wanted to be on firm footing. She needed to be commanding, to be heard. She could not go gently into this.

 

“I appreciate your concern, J.P.” Carmilla started, words measured and even like she had practiced them a thousand times, even though her heart was hammering in her ears as she spoke. “You have always been impeccable at your position and I trust your judgment. I will be glad for the extra security during events and outings.”

 

J.P. seemed to relax at her acceptance, which made her final words stab guiltily in her veins.

 

“However, my walks are nonnegotiable. Is that understood?”

 

Carmilla turned back to her desk, leaning to flick off an old lamp and straighten the remaining papers that were scattered. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t have him see how desperately she needed this.

 

_Needed Laura._

 

The thought came unbidden, unwanted, but it came nonetheless.

 

“Ma’am, I must insist that-”

 

Carmilla did not turn back.

 

“Nonnegotiable means the conversation is finished, Jean Pierre.”

 

Carmilla could feel J.P. bristle behind her, his annoyance at his full name well known.

 

It was a low blow and Carmilla wasn’t proud of it.

 

But strange desperation was clawing at her ribs and she needed to be clear.

 

She was his Queen and she did not need his permission.

 

A moment passed, silent and tense, before J.P. let out a low sigh. He didn’t leave, Carmilla could feel his gaze on her back, and then he spoke again. Softer this time, gentle, like he used to when she was a child.

 

“You know one day they will have to end, ‘Milla. It will be sooner than you think.”

 

Carmilla’s chest tightened at the nickname. A sharp pang of homesickness for her father lanced through her before it faded into hollowness. She swallowed the feeling, nodding.

 

“I know.” She whispered, staring down at her desk and willing her eyes not to water.

 

“I know. Just...not yet. Please. Don’t take them away from me yet.”

 

Carmilla turned back to J.P., to let him see her face at near begging, but he was gone.

 

He’d slipped out of the room, silent as he’d entered, leaving Carmilla shaken and alone.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura woke slowly, her arm throbbing dully as her heavy eyelids tried to open. She hummed low under her breath, relaxed in a way she hadn’t been in months. Laura stretched out her legs languidly, toeing off her forgotten shoes and letting them fall to the floor without care. When she went to move her stiff arms, she bumped into something warm. Groggy and confused, Laura opened her eyes.

 

Tucked next to her, sleeping soundly, was the Queen of England.

 

Carmilla apparently hadn’t minded letting herself in again.

 

Laura stared at her a moment, taken aback by the surprising, although not unpleasant, sight in front of her.

 

Carmilla’s hair was pulled up in a loose bun, waves falling out around her neck. She was still in her jacket and had her arms crossed over her chest, even as she lay curled on her side, as though she was keeping her hands from wandering. She was so close, Laura could count the spare number of freckles that dotted her throat, the bridge of her nose. Her brow was smooth, not the furrowed intensity it had when she was awake. And her cheeks were ruddy, red from being overly warm as she slept, the color creeping up from her jaw.

 

She looked peaceful.

 

Young.

 

Free.

 

Before she realized she was doing it, Laura reached out and twirled one of Carmilla’s loose curls around her finger. It was impossibly soft, just as she remembered. Smooth and silky and fine. She tucked it behind Carmilla’s ear gently, letting her fingers slowly sweep down her jaw as she pulled her hand back, trying not to let her hands linger against her skin.

 

Laura felt the desperate pull to kiss her.

 

Just lean forward and brush their lips together, soft and light and warm.

 

It was a want that ached in her chest.

 

A kiss to wake a Queen.

 

How like a fairy tale.

 

Before she could decide to act on it, Carmilla’s dark eyes fluttered open.

 

She didn’t startle, which somehow shook Laura to her core. It was as if Carmilla had planned to wake with Laura looking at her, studying her, and it did little to deter the desire to kiss her. It made her long for it more, long to press her against the mattress and claim her as her own.

 

For an intense moment, they just stared at one another; eyes locked and breath even. Laura felt her body tremble under Carmilla’s gaze but had no wish to look away. She wanted to be closer, to fall into her, to be consumed by her.

 

How could she do that?

 

Laura didn’t understand.

 

She shouldn’t want her.

 

She couldn’t.

 

_She’s not yours._

 

_She’ll never be yours._

 

But she was in her room, tucked on her bed, eyes boring into her own.

 

How was Laura not supposed to want to keep her?

 

“Your arm...” Carmilla’s voice was hoarse, tired, almost like she had been crying.

 

Laura wanted to ask, question what could have hurt her after the miraculous morning she had witnessed, but instead shook her head.

 

“Just a burn. Nothing serious.”

 

Carmilla unfurled from herself, a gentle hand reaching to rest just below the gauze on Laura’s arm.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

Her words were low, husky, and at the sound of them Laura’s entire body tightened.

 

Carmilla’s face was still relaxed, her eyelids still heavy. Without meaning to, Laura was leaning in, pressing close, wanting to taste the sleep that still clung to her lips. Carmilla just watched her, pliable and warm, as if she didn’t know she was magnetic, addicting.

 

It made Laura want her more.

 

“No.” Laura breathed in response, though it was a lie.

 

Her arm did hurt.

 

But it was also the last thing on her mind.

 

All she wanted was to cross the last whispered space between them and kiss along Carmilla’s mouth, jaw, neck. She wanted to be flush, skin to skin; not to have sex, but just to be near her. She wanted to hold Carmilla, to be held by her, and just get to breathe against her skin.

 

What the hell was happening to her?

 

Laura had never felt such a draw to someone before.

 

It terrified her.

 

Carmilla sighed, inching minutely closer and closing her eyes again.

 

“I’m sorry if I startled you.” She breathed, her hand still warm on Laura’s arm.

 

Laura couldn’t take it, she was going to combust. She wanted to slip her hands up Carmilla’s shirt and kiss along her ribs. She ached to touch her, to hold her, and Carmilla was offering herself without meaning to. It made Laura’s insides feel like sandpaper, rough and crumbling and thin. She needed to get out of there, remove temptation, or she was going to peel Carmilla’s clothes off just to get closer.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Those were the words that fell out of Laura’s mouth as she clenched her fists to keep from reaching out.

 

Carmilla hummed, the sound vibrating straight down into Laura’s stomach, and nodded, but made no move to get up.

 

Laura used all of her willpower to slide down the bed, careful to avoid touching Carmilla as she dropped off the foot and onto the floor.

 

“You like chips?”

 

Carmilla huffed sleepily, snuggling into Laura’s pillow.

 

It made her chest ache.

 

“Who doesn’t like chips?”

 

Laura laughed, ignoring how quickly her heart hammered as Carmilla pressed her nose into the yellow pillow.

 

“Chips it is.”

 

She stole one last look at Carmilla nestled softly against her sheets and then marched toward the kitchen.

 

_Don’t think of her in your bed._

 

_Don’t think of her in your bed._

 

_Don’t think of her in your bed._

 

Laura repeated the mantra as she rummaged through her freezer, as she preheated the oven, as she searched for a pan.

 

It did little to stop her mind from wandering back to her room, wishing her body could follow.

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla fell in and out of sleep, her mind calm and her limbs heavy.

 

Everything smelled of Laura; warm and soft and consuming. She wrapped herself in it, refusing to pull away.

 

Things outside the warmth seemed hard.

 

Her crown.

 

Her mother.

 

Her brother.

 

J.P.

 

The press.

 

Laura.

 

_Laura._

 

Carmilla blinked her eyes open, rubbing at them to fight off the haze, and realized she was alone.

 

“ _You like chips?”_

 

There was music playing faintly; something sad and slow and warm. Carmilla sighed as she uncurled herself from Laura’s pillow, which had somehow moved from beneath her head to be clutched in her arms.

 

She was grateful Laura wasn’t there.

 

She shuddered to think how she would have behaved with Laura next to her.

 

By the state of the crushed pillow, she’d have been so wrapped around her she may have hurt her.

 

Carmilla pulled herself from the warmth, shucking her jacket off and letting it fall messily to the floor. Something smelled delicious, fried and unhealthy and wonderful, and the low music was just beyond the door. She ignored how comfortable she was, how calm, and instead tip toed into the kitchen.

 

She found Laura by the sink, swaying to the lazy rhythm as she washed some spare dishes. It was dark in the room, the only light coming from a dull yellow bulb above the oven. It sent golden glows all over Laura’s back, her shirt slipping down one shoulder as she moved.

 

Carmilla ignored how warm the view made her, how she wanted to walk up and press herself into Laura’s back.

 

That wasn’t what they were, what they ever could be.

 

But her body didn’t seem to understand that.

 

“I like the song.”

 

Laura startled, the plate she was washing dropping noisily into the sink.

 

Carmilla bit back a laugh as she turned to face her, fighting a grin at Laura’s annoyed expression.

 

“Walk quieter, why don’t you? You nearly made me break all my dishes.”

 

Carmilla held up her hands in surrender.

 

“I’ll announce myself next time.”

 

Laura smiled, her grin soft and lopsided.

 

“Next time.”

 

Carmilla’s heart kicked up in her chest, wondering if she was imagining the hopeful lilt in Laura’s voice. Before she could dwell on it, Laura was drying her hands and moving to reset her record player which had kicked off during their conversation. She moved the needle back and slowly turned up the volume dial.

 

“Do you really like the song? I can change it.”

 

Carmilla smiled at Laura’s nervous question.

 

“I do. Never figured you as one for jazz.”

 

Laura laughed, moving from the record player to stand next to Carmilla.

 

“What kind of music did you take me as a one for, your highness?”

 

Carmilla dipped her head down, willing the blush that rushed up her neck to cease.

 

“My dad loves jazz.” Laura continued, politely ignoring Carmilla’s embarrassment. “Glenn Miller. Raised me on it.”

 

Carmilla moved forward, her feet taking her closer though her head had not instructed them to.

 

“Very American of him.”

 

Laura leaned forward conspiratorially.

 

“He _is_ American.”

 

Carmilla laughed at that, surprising and full. It was an unfamiliar sensation but she didn’t mind it.

 

There were many things with Laura she didn’t mind.

 

“I didn’t know you were half American.”

 

Laura nodded, eyebrows raised.

 

“There are many things we don’t know about each other, I think.”

 

Carmilla felt her chest tighten at Laura’s words, the truth of them all around her. It was true; there was so much they didn’t know about one another. Likes, dislikes, favorite films, old fears, lifelong dreams. The list seemed endless, endless and infinite and lovely. Carmilla couldn’t deny that she wanted to know those things, to hear Laura talk about a barrage of menial moments that from anyone else would be uninteresting.

 

She couldn’t deny that she wanted to share those things with Laura too.

 

She wanted to tell her about her mother, how she could pick apart Carmilla’s confidence like a surgeon with a scalpel. She wanted to tell her about where she got the scar on her pinky, about the recurring dream she had about her great aunt, about how the only food she ever craved was a cake she had when she was eleven. Carmilla felt her walls shatter around her, the intense defenses fall away as she looked at Laura; still sleepily messy, one sleeve damp from washing dishes, the other pulled up so her burn could be wrapped.

 

Laura with her flyaway hairs around her face, with her old jazz music, with her ever welcoming eyes.

 

 _Tread lightly_ , a little voice whispered.

 

Carmilla ignored it.

 

She reached forward and pulled Laura to her, hand wrapping firmly around her waist as the other found Laura’s.

 

The music was perfect for it; slow and sad and inevitable. Carmilla let herself sink into it, finding the rhythm and moving them around Laura’s small kitchen with ease.

 

“I can dance.” She offered as explanation to Laura’s surprised expression.

 

Laura took a breath, their chests brushing and sending sparks skittering across Carmilla’s skin.

 

“I can tell.” Laura murmured as she let Carmilla lead.

 

“Never to this American nonsense.” Carmilla teased. “But I do like it, dancing.”

 

Laura hummed in response, her face nearly pressed to Carmilla’s own.

 

“I like it too.” She breathed.

 

Carmilla heart hammered in her chest, pounding so hard she was certain it was going to crack her bones open and flee.

 

What the hell was happening to her?

 

What the hell was Laura doing to her?

 

It had never been like this, so all consuming and intense and yet impossible to dislike. She thought she had loved before, been head over heels before.

 

_Before._

 

Before should have stopped her, should have made her know from the get go that this was impossible, hopeless. But it didn’t. Laura was nothing like before. She was so much bigger, so much more than the chaos of her past.

 

Carmilla wanted to kiss her, tell her.

 

_I can’t pinpoint why but you shake my to my core yet center me at the same time._

 

_I look at you and want to make you proud._

 

_I try to forget you and all it does it make me long for you more._

 

Not big feelings at all, super easy to explain.

 

Carmilla pulled Laura in closer, her nose brushing along her temple.

 

“We should stop.” Laura whispered, her hand tightening in Carmilla’s.

 

“Stop?” Carmilla was so lost in her head, in her heart, she wasn’t sure she had heard.

 

Laura breathed warmly against her throat, her voice low. “We should stop. You...you should stop.”

 

Carmilla pulled back, confused. She tried to find Laura’s gaze, see her as she spoke but Laura was avoiding her.

 

“I’m sorry. What should I stop-”

 

“Stop it. Just stop it.” Laura’s eyes found her own, hard and sharp and angry.

 

Carmilla stopped swaying but didn’t let Laura go. Laura’s jaw was set, clenched with intensity, and then she was rambling.

 

“Stop making me like you. You do it over and over. And you know you shouldn’t. I know you shouldn’t. You can’t keep doing this. Just when I think maybe I can handle this, whatever _this_ is, you...you...you go and do something to make me...”

 

Laura tried to tug her hand out of Carmilla’s but Carmilla wouldn’t let her, couldn’t let her.

 

“Laura, please, what-”

 

“Let go of me.”

 

Her words were biting, her eyes furious, and Carmilla’s hands fell away like she had been burned.

 

Laura moved away from her and angrily shoved the record off its axis, sending the slow, beautiful music into a grating scratch into nothing. She kept her back to Carmilla her shoulders tense and high around her ears.

 

“You keep coming back here and I don’t know what you want, Carmilla. But I know what I want and...I can’t...I can’t want you how I do and just be...I don’t know, just be...”

 

She took a breath, one that made Carmilla’s own chest feel like it was cracking open. Her voice came again, soft and weak and broken.

 

“Please stop making me want you. I can’t want you.”

 

“Laura...”

 

“No.” Laura turned back, finger pointed and body ridged. “No. You don’t get to say something sweet and make me think whatever...whatever _this_ is is normal or going to work out or even possible. Because I’m not capable of that. I can’t just separate sleeping with you and then befriending you and you’re the Queen and I don’t need you to come in here all warm and nice and pretty with your face and your dancing and you try to...to...melt me into forgetting that I don’t understand what this is or what you want and I know what I want and I can’t have it and you don’t get to do that you raging bad person!”

 

Carmilla stood stunned, her stomach dropping to her feet.

 

Laura wanted her.

 

But didn’t at the same time.

 

Her body was hurtling in all different directions; ecstatic and broken and relieved.

 

Carmilla couldn’t stop the words from falling out of her mouth.

 

“I want you. You’re right. I shouldn’t, we shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. I think about you all the time, I want to touch you, I want to look at you, I want to hear about your stupid pub and the stupid people who got to know you before I did and I am jealous of them, that they know you. I don’t know you at all but I want to. And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t. I should not want you. But I do.”

 

The silence fell around them, deafening and heavy and hard.

 

It was messy. And not at all how Carmilla would have wanted to confess to such a thing, but there it was.

 

Spilled all over the kitchen like whiskey, filling the room like smoke. 

 

A breath.

 

Then another.

 

Laura just stared at her, breathing hard; her body was coiled, stiff and angry and too tight.

 

Carmilla was ready to bolt, just flee and never look back and pretend she hadn’t been so drawn to a small pub owner in the heart of London.

 

Then Laura was in her arms, mouth pressed to her own, hands in her hair. Carmilla groaned, falling into the kiss. She pressed forward and pinned Laura against the counter, her hands sliding to Laura’s thighs and lifting on instinct.

 

Laura’s legs were wrapped around her waist, her nails scratching at the back of her neck, and Carmilla was loathe to stop her.

 

She wanted her back.

 

Laura wanted her back.

 

And they both knew, knew this was going to end badly.

 

She was the Queen.

 

Laura was a commoner.

 

It couldn’t work.

 

Not for them.

 

But Laura whined into her mouth as Carmilla’s hands groped over her chest, her fingers finding her nipples through the fabric of her shirt. Laura arched into her hands, gasping breaths hot against her face, and Carmilla could feel her body shaking.

 

“I’m sorry I want you.” She found herself saying.

 

Laura huffed against her, finding Carmilla’s wrist and shoving Carmilla’s hand down the front of her leggings.

 

“We’re idiots, oh...” Laura’s words slipped into a moan; high and broken and too much. Carmilla nearly growled at the feel of her, how wet she was, how hot and slick and silky.

 

Her fingers worked of their own accord; pumping quickly in and out as Laura nearly rutted herself off the counter. Carmilla’s thumb found Laura’s clit and worked all around it, eager to make this, whatever it was, last.

 

Laura’s hand found the back of Carmilla’s head, fisting in her hair and tugging her head up.

 

Their eyes met, Laura’s dark and clouded and so, so beautiful.

 

“Mine.” She whispered, her eyes snapping shut as Carmilla curled her fingers just right.

 

And Carmilla was loathe to deny her, couldn’t deny her.

 

It was the truth.

 

The word came, easy and clear and terrifyingly true.

 

“Yours.”

 

 

–

 

 

“Did you always want to own a pub?” The words were whispered against Laura’s collarbone, Carmilla lips damp and warm.

 

They were naked in Laura’s bed, their clothes forgotten somewhere in the kitchen along with the chips that had burned in the oven.

 

“I did.” She whispered, afraid to speak too loud. “I wanted to be some place where people wanted to be, a home for the wanderer. Even as a kid, I wanted to go into bars and restaurants and hotels. I liked that they were in between spaces; homes away from home.”

 

Carmilla hummed thoughtfully.

 

Laura tugged on one of Carmilla’s curls.

 

“Did you always want to be Queen?”

 

It was meant as a joke, her voice was light, but Carmilla stiffened against her and immediately she knew she had made an error.

 

“No. Never. Not until the dedication.”

 

Laura was surprised as the swiftness of Carmilla’s answer. She was normally so hard to read, so hard to get to expose any of her actual thoughts. The ease at which she had done so made Laura’s heart swell.

 

“You were wonderful, you know. At the park.”

 

Carmilla didn’t say anything, didn’t move, but her arm tightened around Laura a small, nearly immeasurable amount.

 

Laura moved then, rolling the pair so that she was hovering above Carmilla.

 

Her dark hair was fanned out against the pillow, her lips kiss swollen and pink. She had a hickey blooming against her collarbone and Laura was tempted to leave more on her before the night was over. But as she looked down at Carmilla, shy faced and unsure, Laura wanted to be clear.

 

“Even if we hadn’t...if we weren’t...”

 

Sleeping together?

 

Fuck buddies?

 

_If you weren’t dangerously close to falling in love with her?_

 

Laura huffed a laugh at her own confusion.

 

“You were incredible. Everyone loved you. They were all so proud. I was proud. You’re good at this.”

 

Carmilla flushed beneath her but didn’t avert her eyes.

 

“Thank you.” She offered, swallowing hard.

 

Laura shook her head. “I mean it. You’re so good at it. And you’re going to just keep getting better and better. We’re lucky we got you.”

 

Carmilla’s gaze changed then, slipping into something Laura hadn’t seen before. It was like those nights in the pub, when Carmilla had one too many drinks and her facade came down, except there was something else too. Something new, or very old; a youth, an innocence that hadn’t been shown the light of day for years.

 

Before Laura could name it, Carmilla leaned up and kissed her.

 

Soft.

 

Tender.

 

Unhurried.

 

Laura let her lead, falling into it.

 

And as they rolled into Laura’s sheets, her lips falling to suck against Carmilla’s neck, Laura didn’t mind the haze as to what they were.

 

Laura would take the confusion so long as Carmilla came with it.

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla couldn’t stop grinning, her face nearly aching.

 

Laura wanted her.

 

Laura wanted her.

 

Laura wanted _her._

 

She was exhausted, it was nearly six in the morning and she hadn’t slept all night.

 

Lola would certainly scold her for disappearing again. Her mother would certainly find out that she'd vanished. J.P. would be in trouble, no doubt, and she'd have to try and defend him for letting her sneak away.

 

But as she trudged back to Buckingham Palace, her clothes resting on her much sloppier than when she’d snuck out, Carmilla couldn’t be bothered to mind.

 

Laura believed in her.

 

Laura wanted her.

 

And Laura knew Carmilla wanted her back.

 

Carmilla shook her head, tucking her coat tighter around herself, and headed off down the closest street.

 

 

–

 

 

“Is that who I think it is?”

 

“Shut up, Theo, I’m too hungover for your shit right now.”

 

“No man, that’s the bloody Queen. She’s taking a fucking walk on our shit street.”

 

“It’s not her.”

 

“The fuck, it is! Get your phone out. What did I say? Bloody Queen off on a stroll.”

 

“What the hell is she doing out here?”

 

“Looks like she’s walk of shaming it.”

 

“Lucky her then.”

 

“Oy your cousin still work at the paper? Gotta be some money in this. The old mum’s got some marks I’m sure the paps would pay to see.”

 

 

–

 

 

Laura plopped onto her couch, nearly sloshing her cereal out of the bowl. Spoon sticking out of her mouth, she clicked on the news and hunkered down to see if anyone had anything more to say about Carmilla’s speech.

 

Laura was loving the coverage of it.

 

It just made her so proud.

 

She shoved a spoonful of sugary cereal into her mouth just as the news anchors started talking.

 

“One for the romantics among us, does the Queen have a new prospect? Images surfaced of Queen Carmilla heading home from a late night encounter this morning, with a matching grin to boot. Glad to see our notoriously straight-faced princess is having a better time as Queen. Up next, breaking ground on new construction in Greenwich.”

 

The spoon fell out of Laura’s mouth, clattering loudly against side of the bowl.

 

There, across her screen, was a picture of Carmilla.

 

Grinning, face flushed, on the street where Laura’s pub was.

 

And there, on her neck like a brand, was a giant red hickey.

 

Laura swallowed, her heart plummeting.

 

She was about to get caught for fucking the Queen of England.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN 
> 
> you knew the paps were gonna get involved somehow, just didn't know it was ya main asshole theo who was gonna key them up did ya
> 
> thank you so much again for always being hella nice about how fucking long it takes me to update. i feel like this chapter isn't going to be satisfactory but it's also one i think was needed. laura and carmilla still can't name what they are - will they ever be able to? - but its clear they aren't just friends and this isn't just some tryst. hopefully that comes across. 
> 
> also the song they dance to is moonlight serenade for those who wanna get all jazzy and romantic
> 
> hope you saw a dog today I HAVEN'T YET but the day isn't over so there is hope for all of us that we may still
> 
> PS go see wonder woman. i came like 4 times during it. 
> 
> THANKS AGAIN YOU GUYS HOPE YOU LIKED IT LEMME KNOW


	10. So Much More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura deal with the fallout of being tabloid news and Carmilla makes a decision that might be her worst one yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, long time no see. That's my standard opening line at this point, isn't it? 
> 
> As a thank you for all your patiently waiting, this chapter honestly could be two - you'll notice a break where it could have been separated - but you guys have been NICE AF so you deserve all of the shiz in one intense shot. Hopefully that makes up for the wait and hopefully it was worth it!
> 
> Thanks for reading ya'll, you're honestly too nice to this sloppy lesbian. Enjoy!

 

 

 

At twenty one, Carmilla made a choice.

 

She didn’t realize she was making one; most big decisions are like that, in the end. But she had made one just the same.

 

She had been twenty one, away from home, and she, for the briefest of times, forgot.

 

Forgot who she was.

 

Forgot _what_ she was.

 

Forgot who she would have to be.

 

Sometimes, Carmilla let herself think about twenty one. She liked to remind herself that maybe, deep down, that was who she truly was; before the realization, before the fall, before the sudden, dramatic end.

 

 _Before_.

 

She didn’t like to think of the after.

 

Of twenty two and twenty three and more of twenty four than she cared to admit.

 

But twenty one.

 

Sometimes Carmilla let herself remember.

 

“We could send her to the Netherlands.”

 

“Oh that’s the _last_ place we could send her.”

 

“It was just a thought, ma’am, I know she once knew-”

 

“Once nearly _ruined_. They’d welcome her as kindly as the plague. France. She will go to France. She can’t do much damage there.”

 

Carmilla could hear them whispering, deciding.

 

Her mother.

 

The Prime Minister.

 

J.P.

 

Even Lola was there, her worried pacing creaking along the floor.

 

She remembered twenty one so sharply, then.

 

“France? And do what? See the embassy?”

 

“Scheduled outings. We’ll say it was pre-planned. This is not a new vacation; Lola draw up the paperwork with Jean Pierre. This should seem like it was intended from months ago. I’ll call Sarah Jane at the Mirror. She’ll be willing to send cameras when and where we need them.”

 

Carmilla could hear them, their muddled voices just beyond the door. She was sat at her desk, the Queen of England, yet she was waiting to hear her own fate.

 

She felt helpless.

 

Useless.

 

Young.

 

Twenty one, going on twenty two, and falling.

 

Failing.

 

So like before.

 

She was the highest power in the land.

 

Yet had no power at all.

 

Queen.

 

Monarch.

 

Mockery.

 

“Carmilla?”

 

Lola poked her head into the office, hair frizzy and wild like she had just woken up. Carmilla wondered if she had.

 

“Do you have a preferred city in France you wish to visit?”

 

Carmilla felt her throat tighten.

 

She was given no choice. She was given no freedom. She was given no life beyond what her government and her mother allowed. It had been that way as long as she could recall, even at twenty one.

 

But Lola Perry.

 

Lola still tried to give her small moments, glimmers, of independence.

 

Carmilla thought if she were anyone but herself that she might cry about it.

 

But she _was_ herself.

 

Little ‘Milla.

 

A little fool.

 

Much older than twenty one.

 

So she couldn’t. Not here, not now, not ever.

 

Her tears were not her own.

 

Not anymore, she realized.

 

But if she had them to shed, if she could have chosen, she would have gladly spilled them in thanks of Lola Perry.

 

“Nice,” Carmilla heard her own voice say.

 

She didn’t recall thinking it but the word spilled out anyway.

 

With a nod, Lola disappeared out of the room leaving nothing but a closing door in her wake.

 

Carmilla swallowed, her throat dry and her jaw tight.

 

Had twenty one felt this way?

 

She tried to remember, to recall the before; to summon the feelings that had so consumed her once.

 

The memories were there; the excitement, the passion, the inevitable end.

 

But it felt so small now, by comparison.

 

Before, there was the Netherlands and youth and a few weeks of touches that felt fleeting even at their boldest.

 

And now…

 

Now there was Laura.

 

_Laura._

 

Her heart thumped low in her stomach, in her finger tips, in her ears. Just the thought of her and Carmilla’s body was off balance.

 

Laura was so much more than before.

 

She deserved so much more.

 

Instinctively, her hand reached up to brush against the dark red mark on her collarbone. Laura’s mouth had sucked against her skin, bitten and marred it until the hickey bloomed ripe and sharp. Carmilla had held her there, nearly begged her for it, and even as she listened to people decide her fate like a pony for show, she did not regret it.

 

Couldn’t regret it.

 

Laura was _so much more_ than before.

 

She needed to call her, Carmilla realized.

 

Warn her.

 

Tell her she was going to Nice.

 

Because that’s something she should do.

 

Wasn’t it?

 

Hadn’t they just admitted to desiring one another? Hadn’t they slept next to each other, skin to skin, and just held one another in the dark? That surely meant she deserved to know if Carmilla was leaving the country.

 

That Carmilla was being sent away.

 

Away from her.

 

_They are sending you away from Laura._

 

Before she had time to decide, Lola popped back into the room.

 

“You have two minutes, then they will be in here. It’s not going to be pleasant.”

 

Carmilla’s throat tightened.

 

J.P.

 

The Prime Minister.

 

Her mother.

 

_Her mother._

 

Carmilla swallowed her thoughts of Laura, shoved them down into the depths of herself. Buried them far away where no one could touch them, tucked Laura away where no one would reach her.

 

She could not be Carmilla now, not the nearly love sick girl she had been earlier.

 

It was time to be Queen.

 

She took a breath, full and slow, and settled her shoulders in perfect posture.

 

“Send them in.”

 

 

–

 

 

_You never think, Laura. You’re all action and no preparation. Sometimes you need to look before you dive in head first._

 

She had heard the words a dozen, a hundred, a million times. Her father scolding her, warning her, that she would one day find her brashness to be a burden, a weakness. Laura knew he was just trying to protect her; she couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must have been to have her as a child.

 

She was impulsive. She was overeager. She was short tempered and righteous and all kinds of tiresome. She wouldn’t stop talking and she never took stock of a situation before barreling in and she rarely made the correct choice on the first try. She was fiercely loyal but equally proud and the two sides would butt heads over and over until she ended up battered and bruised.

 

Laura did not blame her father for his protectiveness.

 

How could she?

 

She was a cautious man’s nightmare.

 

Yet, if all that about her was true – the brashness, the boldness, the instinct over evidence attitude – then why couldn’t she bring herself to make a simple phone call?

 

Laura’s finger hovered over the button.

 

It would be so easy.

 

It would ring. Carmilla probably wouldn’t answer. She’d most likely leave a message. A few quick words, maybe a hasty apology, and she could be done with it.

 

At least she would have done _something_.

 

_Call her._

 

_Call her._

 

_Just fucking call her._

 

The mantra had been repeating in her head all morning.

 

Then into the afternoon.

 

And now it was nearing seven p.m. and she had yet to do it.

 

She needed to call Carmilla.

 

At the very least, to let her know Laura knew.

 

Knew that the tabloids had caught her, caught them.

 

She should let Carmilla know she was aware of what that meant.

 

It wasn’t safe for her to come back.

 

Carmilla couldn’t come back.

 

The thought made Laura’s chest tighten. Her lungs felt small and her ribs suddenly too sharp. She tried to ignore how desperately she wanted Carmilla in her apartment again, near her again, but it poured into her like smoke; stifling and suffocating and paralyzing.

 

She hated feeling so useless.

 

So besotted.

 

So in…

 

Laura couldn’t even think the word. Not when so many questions still lingered.

 

Was she ever going to see her again? Was this it? They had just gotten to a new place, a place of semi-understanding. Laura wasn’t ready to let that go, to let Carmilla go.

 

_You’re never going to be ready to let her go._

 

Laura shushed the nagging voice in her head and looked down at her phone.

 

Before she could talk herself out of it, she was pressing the call button.

 

Laura paced her apartment, her heart swelling in her throat with every ring.

 

_Ring._

 

Laura was by the refrigerator.

 

_Ring._

 

Laura was near the front door.

 

_Ring._

 

Laura was leaning on the couch, tapping her foot against the floor.

 

_Ring._

 

“Laura.”

 

Carmilla’s voice startled her, so much so that she nearly dropped the phone.

 

But it wasn’t just the fact that Carmilla had answered; it was how she said her name.

 

It was laced with relief.

 

With understanding.

 

With affection.

 

Instantly, Laura calmed.

 

“Carm.” She breathed into the phone, suddenly desperate to see her, touch her, hold her. Her voice was not enough.

 

It would never be enough.

 

She wanted so much more.

 

“I’m so sorry.” Carmilla offered immediately, her words soft and rushed.

 

“I feel like I should be saying that to you.” Laura murmured, tucking herself into a corner of the couch, her nerves at being caught and their situation lightening in the warmth of Carmilla’s words and the longing that uncoiled in her chest in response.

 

A huff of a laugh came from the other end of the line.

 

“You mean for the hickey?”

 

Laura’s ears burned at the word. She ducked her head, groaning.

 

“Yes, I mean for that.”

 

Carmilla hummed, her voice dropping low.

 

“I hope you aren’t sorry for that. I know I’m not.”

 

Laura’s jaw fell open.

 

“You cannot be flirting with me when _we are currently tabloid news._ ”

 

Carmilla gave another of her half laughs, unpracticed and new and so beautiful.

 

“Technically, _I’m_ tabloid news. You aren’t.”

 

There were words unsaid there, in the small pause Carmilla took. Laura could hear them. She could feel them in her veins, in her chest, in her throat, making her shiver.

 

_I’m tabloid news._

 

 _You don’t have to be_.

 

_You can remain untouched._

 

It was an out.

 

Laura could read between the lines. Carmilla was offering her an escape.

 

In the breath of hesitance, Laura could hear her father’s voice in her head.

 

_Take it. Take it and walk away._

 

_You never think, Laura._

 

_This could ruin you._

 

_She will ruin you._

 

All true, yes.

 

Carmilla could, would, ruin her.

 

But, oh, to be ruined by such a thing.

 

Laura’s body ached at the thought.

 

She longed for that ruin.

 

Laura debated for a breath; she wanted to somehow tell Carmilla she was in this, whatever it was. The realization terrified her as much as it calmed her. She was _in this_. She wanted this.

 

She wanted Carmilla.

 

Carmilla was giving her a choice but Laura had chosen long ago.

 

“I’ll gladly give you more, with how big your grin was on the news.”

 

Laura slapped her hand over her mouth.

 

Okay, so she hadn’t exactly intended to say _that._

 

A startled laugh came from the other end of the line, low and sharp. It made Laura’s toes curl.

 

“You offering?”

 

Carmilla’s voice was confident but Laura could hear the still laced question.

 

_Do you really want me?_

 

_Want this?_

 

_Want all it entails?_

 

The words fell out of her mouth faster than she could think them.

 

“You know my door is always open.”

 

Carmilla hummed in her ear as Laura felt her cheeks flood with blush.

 

She had been forward before; come on to women, voiced her own desires, made her intentions clear. But there was something about doing it with Carmilla, to Carmilla, that send her skin tingling. It was intoxicating, addicting; overwhelming in the best way.

 

Laura didn’t know if she would be able to stop now that she had started.

 

“I’m being sent to Nice.”

 

Laura snapped out of her haze.

 

“France? Because of...”

 

The word was unspoken but they both knew what she was leaving out.

 

_Because of me._

 

“I won’t...” Carmilla took a shuddering breath, then another voice was muffled in the background. There was shuffling, Carmilla’s voice, muddled but sharp, and Laura strained to try and hear what was being said. A door slammed, the other voice vanishing and then Carmilla was back, words tight and forced.

 

“I have to leave in a few hours. I won’t be able to see you before I go. I...I’m sorry, I don’t...I don’t know what to...”

 

“I’ll be here when you get back.” Laura rushed, anxious to quiet Carmilla’s growing panic, to ease the fear that was creeping up her own throat. “How long will you be gone?”

 

“Two weeks. Maybe three. Depends on the story my mother wants to sell. I’ll...could I...may I call you?”

 

Laura felt her heart thump unevenly in her chest. Carmilla sounded so uncertain, so small. It made her ache.

 

She took a breath, steeling herself, sending the trembles that wanted to attack her voice back to the pit of her stomach. Carmilla was shaken and she needed to assure her. Laura nodded, before realizing Carmilla couldn’t see her. She sighed, gripping the phone tighter.

 

“You better.”

 

 

–

 

 

Carmilla threw a pair of worn boots into her bag, the thumping sound of their landing a faint echo of the anger that simmered in her chest. Speaking to Laura had settled her stomach, calmed her in a way that both comforted and terrified her, but nearly the moment after she hung up the phone, her mother had been there.

 

Her mother, with her precise, cutting words.

 

Her mother, with her practiced dismantling of every confidence Carmilla had.

 

Her mother, with her judgment and her berating, and most infuriating, her smugness about being right.

 

“What did I tell you, ‘Milla? I told you they would turn on you when they had the chance. Of course you gave them the headline of the month. You better hope your little _conquest_ doesn’t decide to sell her story to the highest bidder.”

 

Carmilla bristled at Laura being referred to as a conquest.

 

That was not what she was.

 

She was…

 

Carmilla wasn’t entirely sure. But she knew Laura was important, Laura was not something to be owned or used, Laura was…

 

Laura was…

 

Laura was just _so much more_ than anyone Carmilla had met before.

 

Even so, Carmilla let her mother scold her and reprimand her and she even let her mother make snide remarks about Laura. Carmilla knew it was better in the end.

 

The longer she could keep Laura out of her mother’s cross hairs, the better.

 

And, for now, no one knew who Laura was.

 

Carmilla would protect her as much as she could.

 

_Because once she sees what it’s like, what it would really be like, she’ll be gone._

 

The voice, so like her mother’s, whispered the insecurity in her ear. Carmilla shook her head, tossing an old shirt into her suitcase, uncaring for how wrinkled it would get.

 

If she was to be paraded around France for nearly a month, she would at least take the small pleasure of doing so in the rumpled t-shirts and ripped jeans her mother so loathed.

 

“If you don’t at least bring one nice dress, your mother is going to have me beheaded.”

 

Lola blew into the room, her fingers typing furiously on one of her many phones. Carmilla stifled the annoyed groan that wanted to leak out of her, instead choosing to look through her wardrobe.

 

“Also, high collars. No need to put your little badge on display any more than it all ready has been.” Lola was unpacking the clothes Carmilla had shoved into her suitcase, refolding the crumpled clothes.

 

Carmilla knew she was just being helpful, but she still bristled. Instinctively, she wanted to wear as many low cut shirts at she could; let the world see the other places Laura left her mark.

 

But she was the Queen.

 

She was the Queen and a hickey on her neck was national news.

 

She grit her teeth at the ridiculousness of it all.

 

“There will be several scheduled candid shots, just something so the public sees you out and about, but no actual events or meetings so, honestly, this will be a nice treat, to spend some time in France. It’s lovely this time of year and a break from the chaos of London may do you-”

 

“Enough, Lola.” Carmilla ground out.

 

Lola apparently hadn’t heard, her rambling about how beautiful the villa would be and the gorgeous weather they were going to need to soak up continuing on and on.

 

Every word needled at Carmilla, fraying her reserve. Laura had somehow managed to settle her after the verbal lashing she’d received from her mother and her Prime Minister. But Lola was chipping away at it, drumming against the wound.

 

She did not want to go to France.

 

This was not some luxurious vacation to unwind.

 

Carmilla was being sent away because she had caused a scene.

 

Because her mother and her government needed to decide what to do with her.

 

She was no better than William being sent to Windsor.

 

Except she was being forced out of the country.

 

Carmilla did not want to hear how wonderful and exciting her punishment was, not when it was just another layer of show.

 

It was not a reward.

 

It was a power move by her mother.

 

And it had worked.

 

“I’ve heard there are some new art exhibits, though I don’t know if you want that kind of media attention. It might be nice just to relax after-”

 

“Enough.” Carmilla tried again, her voice harder.

 

Lola continued on.

 

“I mean, who doesn’t enjoy a little diverting trip? And after everything with your father and the media, it will just be-”

 

“Enough, Lola!” Carmilla yelled, fists clenched at her sides as she whirled around to face her stunned assistant. “I said enough. I do not want to hear any more about France. I do not want to hear any more from you about anything at all.”

 

Her assistant froze at her folding, turning to look at Carmilla.

 

Instantly, Carmilla felt a flood of shame and embarrassment. She was so angry, so tired, but Lola was only ever there for her; she protected her, cared for her, and she did not deserve the brunt of Carmilla’s rage.

 

“I’m...Lola, I’m sorry.” Carmilla whispered, the anger leaking from her limbs and disappearing into the carpet. She felt tired, so damn tired, and all she wanted was to curl in a ball and sleep. She closed her eyes, picturing the warmth and the comfort of her bed, and tried to ignore how much it looked like Laura’s.

 

_Laura._

 

“Is that her name?” Lola’s voice was soft, quiet.

 

Carmilla hadn’t realized but she’d spoken out loud.

 

Finally.

 

She’d said Laura’s name to someone.

 

It wasn’t pretend.

 

She was real.

 

Her chest swelled with joy and fear and an unfairly comforting sense of relief.

 

Carmilla glanced at Lola her, who had begun to fold clothes again.

 

“Yes.” She offered, suddenly unable to stop her mouth from speaking. “Laura, Laura Hollis.”

 

Lola hummed noncommittally as she nodded.

 

Carmilla felt so young then, as Lola neatly packed her clothes. She felt twenty one; twenty one and nervous and in love.

 

_Love._

 

Carmilla’s throat tightened, ignoring the thought and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Her hands were shaking, she realized, and she folded them in her lap to hide the tremors.

 

“You’ve never told me about anyone before.” Lola offered, slipping Carmilla’s boots into a pocket of the now perfectly organized suitcase.

 

Carmilla nodded, unsure how to respond.

 

She wasn’t sure why she had offered Laura’s name now. It was dangerous. If word should get back to her mother, if they found out who Laura was...Carmilla wanted to shield Laura from anything they might do to her.

 

What the press would do to her.

 

But it felt so _good_ , so unfairly and blissfully good, to say her name aloud.

 

She was real.

 

Carmilla wasn’t imagining all those nights and strange mornings and the cocktails in the dingy pub.

 

It was real.

 

“You’re smiling.” Lola sing-songed at her.

 

Carmilla huffed, shaking her head. She hadn’t realized it, but she was. She ducked her head, trying to hide her face.

 

“I don’t mean to be.” Carmilla said. “I just...I can’t...”

 

She couldn’t explain it.

 

_I can’t stop thinking about her. I’m angry I can see her for weeks. I already miss her. I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but fall for her over and over again._

 

Suddenly, Lola’s red curls were in her line of sight. She was crouched down, hands on Carmilla’s knees, with a wise smile on her face. She used to look at Carmilla like that when she was younger, right before she unfurled a pearl of wisdom or tried to clean up the wounds her mother’s words had wrought. It was a comforting look, but there was something else as she looked up at Carmilla.

 

A mischief in her eyes that she hadn’t seen before.

 

“My dear Queen, have you gone and fallen in love?”

 

Carmilla could feel the blush working its way from her chest up her neck.

 

_Love._

 

_Love._

 

Was she in love?

 

Carmilla had thought she knew what love felt like, before. She thought that white hot feeling had been it.

 

But Laura made her feel so much. She felt everything. All at once. Like walking on land after a trip at sea. Everything felt uneven and new and she couldn’t get her bearings. It was dizzying and overwhelming and too lovely to be real. It made her ache. It made her anxious. It made her want to hold Laura’s hand in her own just to have an excuse to touch her.

 

At her silence, Lola clicked her tongue and hummed. She stood and pulled out one of her many phones. She began typing hurriedly before slipping it back into her pocket and grabbing another phone. She was busy tapping away when Carmilla finally had the wherewithal to ask her what she was doing. Lola smiled that mysterious grin of hers and winked.

 

“Pack the rest of your things.” She instructed, patting Carmilla on the cheek, and then she was sweeping out of the room, her nails tapping against her phone screen as she typed.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura shook her head to the side, willing the water plugged in her ear to get out. She’d been half asleep as she showered, the pub having been busier than it had in months. Regulars who had stopped coming in had returned, familiar faces lighting up as Laura remembered their drink orders. It had provided her with a much needed distraction; from her money woes, from her tired body, from Carmilla.

 

Her heart thumped unevenly in her chest just thinking about her.

 

Laura wandered into the kitchen, the clock ticking loudly in the night quiet.

 

Nearly four a.m.

 

She should have been asleep all ready.

 

She meant to be. But she felt so keyed up after she had closed the pub. Without the buzz of patrons to distract her, she couldn’t stop thinking about Carmilla.

 

Was she all ready in France? Was she thinking about her? Did she miss her? Was she angry at being caught? Would Laura ever see her again? When would she call? Would she actually call at all? Was Carmilla going to pull away from her again, like she had tried those weeks ago?

 

It was too much. It overwhelmed Laura.

 

But it overwhelmed her in a way that made her feel shaken.

 

She had never felt this wound up over someone before.

 

It was exciting. And new. And wonderful.

 

And dangerous.

 

Laura knew where her heart was headed.

 

_Where it all ready is._

 

Laura shook the thought, filling the kettle and setting the water to boil.

 

She couldn’t be thinking like that. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t.

 

Both she and Carmilla had said as much. They knew the should not want each other. They knew it was going to end badly.

 

And yet.

 

She couldn’t get her out of her system, couldn’t stand the idea of not seeing her anymore.

 

It was as frustrating as it was exhilarating.

 

The low whistle of her kettle broke Laura out of her thoughts, forcing her to make her tea instead of staring and thinking about Carmilla.

 

As if she summoned her, Laura’s phone on the counter began buzzing. Carmilla’s name flashed on her screen and Laura nearly knocked her mug over as she scrambled to answer.

 

“Carm?” She almost shouted into the receiver.

 

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” Carmilla sounded out of breath, like she’d been running; frazzled and a little frantic and too endearing for Laura to handle.

 

“No, no. Terrible sleep schedule, remember?”

 

There was some shuffling on the other end of the line, another voice and then Carmilla was breathing heavily into the phone.

 

“I think I’ve done something foolish.” She murmured, barely loud enough for Laura to hear.

 

“Oh?” Laura’s heart kicked up, her mind whizzing with what Carmilla could have done in the hours since they’d last seen one another.

 

“Or I’m about to.”

 

That made Laura’s brow furrow.

 

“Carm, what are you-”

 

A knock came at her apartment door and Laura nearly dropped the phone.

 

“Carmilla?” She hissed, but when she glanced down the call had been ended.

 

Snatching the hot tea kettle, Laura tiptoed to the door. With all the courage she could muster, she grabbed the handle and threw it open.

 

Standing before her was Carmilla; mussed hair, blushing cheeks, clothes wrinkled and loose. She looked disheveled and beautiful and Laura nearly dropped the pot of boiling water at the sight of her.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Was what popped out of her mouth as she tried to catch her bearings.

 

Carmilla took a step closer, not quite inside the apartment but not fully out of it either, and let a small, soft smile play on her mouth.

 

“Come with me to France.” She breathed, leaning toward Laura like she was magnet.

 

Laura stumbled back a few steps at that, suddenly desperate to put her kettle and her phone down before they slipped from her hands. She tossed them on the counter, barely registering that she’d sloshed scalding water onto her phone screen.

 

She could not have heard Carmilla correctly.

 

Surely she didn’t actually ask her to-

 

“Come to France with me.” She was fully in the apartment, the door having closed quietly behind her. Laura looked at her and could hardly believe was she was seeing.

 

The Queen of England was asking Laura to run away with her.

 

That could not be happening.

 

It should not be happening.

 

Carmilla came forward, her hands shaking as they found Laura’s.

 

“This is a terrible idea.” She started, gaze trained on their interlocking fingers. “You have a pub and a life and friends and an entire world and I am asking you to drop that for two weeks, three maybe, in the middle of the night, without warning.” Her words were rushed, young; like she’d practiced saying them and was trying to remember the words.

 

Carmilla took a breath and Laura watched as she squared her shoulders, attempting to push through the last bit. Her eyes came up to find Laura’s, locking her in a fearful but honest gaze.

 

“I don’t want to be away from you. But I have to leave. They are...I’m being sent away, but if you came with me, then...I just wanted to check. And wanted to you know. That I want you. With me. If...if you wanted that too.”

 

Laura opened her mouth to try and reply but no words came out. Carmilla rushed to fill the silence.

 

“It’s this old villa near the shore. Private and quiet and no one would bother us. My assistant, Lola, would be there and some guards, but you don’t even notice them after a while and Lola goes off on her own most of the time. It would just be me, really. And you. If you wanted. There’s...there’s a pool and beautiful views and I know there are new exhibits in the museums that you could go see, you could spend the day out if you wanted, you wouldn’t have to stay cooped up with me, and I just wanted to-”

 

Laura kissed her.

 

She couldn’t stop herself.

 

Carmilla was rambling and flustered and nervous like a teenager.

 

It was too endearing, too ridiculous, and she needed to be kissed.

 

Carmilla let out a muffled yelp of surprise and then she was leaning into her, her mouth moving warmly against her own. Laura shivered, her arms winding around Carmilla’s neck to haul her in closer. Her insides lit up, heat skittering across her skin as Carmilla’s hands fisted in her sleep shirt.

 

Laura pulled back, brushing her nose against Carmilla’s as Carmilla stumbled froward to try and kiss her again. But Laura needed to breathe, needed to speak, and she gently pressed against Carmilla’s shoulders to keep her at bay.

 

“Yes.” Laura sighed out, surprised at how certain the word sounded.

 

Carmilla’s eyes popped open.

 

“Yes? You said yes?” The hands resting against Laura’s waist gripped her shirt, like Carmilla was afraid Laura wasn’t really there.

 

_She’s going to ruin you._

 

Laura could hear the warning as she stared into Carmilla’s dark eyes.

 

This woman could ruin her.

 

This woman would.

 

“Yes.” Laura said again, nodding her head. “I’ll go to France with you.”

 

Carmilla couldn’t seem to fathom that answer, her eyebrows knitting together and her eyes widening in a near comical way.

 

Laura could barely believe the answer herself.

 

She was going to run away to France with the Queen of England.

 

Wilson and Mel were going to need very, very big bonuses when she came back.

 

She didn't know where she'd find the money, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

 

Instead of worrying about it, Laura pulled Carmilla in for another kiss and let her mouth distract her from the undoubtedly terrible, poorly thought out, impulsive decision she’d just made.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Three hours.

 

That was how long the whole ordeal had taken.

 

Laura said yes, they had messily packed her things, and now Carmilla was exhausted as she stared out over Nice.

 

They’d taken a small private plane and, oddly, sneaking Laura on board had been effortlessly easy.

 

“Her identity is safe here.” Lola had told her after Laura immediately fell asleep during take off. “I’m calling in some favors. Every guard and crew member was personally selected by me.” She leaned forward, patting Carmilla on the knee. “You deserve to breathe, Carmilla. You don’t have to worry about word reaching anyone, I swear it.”

 

Carmilla immediately believed her.

 

She wondered if she should have questioned, been more hesitant to trust. Her mother had taught her that money would sway anyone and that loyalty was merely another word for "name your price". But Lola had never once betrayed her and she knew how many connections she had.

 

So Carmilla let herself rest the remainder of the flight, her hand sneaking to hold Laura’s as they slept.

 

“I’ve never been to France.”

 

Laura’s groggy voice came from behind her and Carmilla nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. Laura padded onto the balcony, wrapped in an old blue robe she had brought from home. It was almost ten in the morning, but both had barely slept. Carmilla felt the urge to move and wrap her arms around Laura, pull her flush against her. Instead she looked back out over the city.

 

“You should go exploring.” She finally offered.

 

She could feel Laura’s gaze on her for a long moment, one that made her question every decision that had brought them to this point.

 

They were on the balcony of a royal villa in France.

 

It was a long way from one drink in a dark pub.

 

Carmilla could feel anxiety working it’s way up her throat.

 

What were they doing?

 

What had she done?

 

Was this all a huge, colossal mistake?

 

Laura’s hand reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Carmilla’s ear. The touch was warm, familiar, like a habit. Carmilla looked at her in the morning sun, still sleep worn with mussed hair and heavy eyes. Laura smiled at her, then bit her lip in effort to stop the grin from growing.

 

“Thank you.” Laura said into the quiet space between them. “But I think I’d like to stay with you for a while, if you don’t mind.”

 

Carmilla couldn’t fight the grin that broke out across her face.

 

 _This is a mistake,_ the terrible voice inside her head whispered.

 

 _I don’t care,_ Carmilla decided as she took Laura’s hand in her own.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura had fallen asleep with her head in Carmilla’s lap. They had both been reading. Or, rather, Carmilla had been reading and Laura was still too nervous to wander around without Carmilla at her side, so she had pretended to read until she fell asleep.

 

When she woke, Carmilla was no where to be seen and the intensity of their situation crashed down onto Laura like a wave. It was suffocating and overwhelming and so, so irresponsible.

 

She’d plied Wilson and Mel with some story about a family emergency and that she would need to be gone for a couple weeks. Mel hadn’t pressed, as she honestly probably didn’t care, but Wilson had texted her randomly checking in and asking if there was anything he could do nearly every hour. Laura hoped her entire trip didn’t involve lying to him over and over; the guilt was eating at her already and it was only the first day.

 

_The first day of weeks._

 

She was about to spend weeks basically alone with Carmilla.

 

Though Carmilla’s assistant - Lola? Was that her name? - had been on the flight with them, she had yet to see her again once they reached the villa. The guards sent to protect them also vanished into nothing but she could tell they were nearby; every now and then a walkie would go off or two men would could be heard chatting about the weather. Other than that, however, it had just been Laura and Carmilla.

 

Carmilla.

 

Laura sat up on the plush couch, attempting to tame her unruly hair. She wondered where Carmilla had wandered off to; she hadn’t even noticed her getting up. With a final stretch, Laura meandered through the open rooms of the villa, glancing out the large windows she passed and taking in the unfairly beautiful views.

 

She was just about to head to the second floor when she passed by the doors leading out onto the back garden. Laura could see the edge of the pool, its waters crystalline and clear, when she heard the tell-tale noise of splashing. Curious, she headed to peer out the door.

 

Laura’s mouth went dry at the sight she found.

 

Carmilla was at the other end of the pool, just having pulled herself out of the water. Her back to was Laura, a towel in her hands as she ruffled it through her dark hair. Her swim suit caused Laura to grip the doorway, her head suddenly light. It was dark green, even darker when damp, and it clung to her ivory skin like it was painted on. The back of the top was barely a few thing strings and the bottoms left very little to Laura’s imagination as it cut highly up her sides to reveal most of her ass.

 

Laura had never been one to ogle women, she wasn’t some frat boy who was controlled by his libido, but Laura was untying her robe before she could question it.

 

She didn’t know what bravery struck her then, but Laura knew if she didn’t touch Carmilla in that bathing suit, she was going to die.

 

Or, at least, that’s what her brain kept telling her.

 

But damn it all to hell, she had just run away with the Queen of England to _France_ and before she woke up from whatever fever dream she was in, Laura was going to capitalize on it. Strike while the iron is hot, as they say.

 

Though the only hot thing Laura could focus on was Carmilla.

 

Carmilla and her milky skin, Carmilla and her dark tangled hair, Carmilla and her body that pulled Laura in like a drunk to drink.

 

Her robe fell to the ground quietly and Laura shucked herself out of her pants swiftly after. Her shirt went next, falling behind her as she tiptoed to the edge of the pool. Carmilla was still facing away from her, the sun making the water droplets on her skin glitter like stars.

 

Before she could second guess herself, Laura dove into the smooth, clear water.

 

When she broke though the surface, Carmilla had turned at the noise and followed her swim across the pool. Laura was hovering close to the edge Carmilla stood on but was far enough away the she knew the water was hiding the fact that she was naked.

 

“Swimming without me?” Laura asked, eyeing Carmilla up and down.

 

She reveled in the flush that broke out across Carmilla’s chest.

 

In one smooth motion, Carmilla dropped her towel and dove gracefully into the water, barely making a splash. When she appeared again, she was nearly pressed against Laura, their legs bumping into each other underwater as they tread.

 

“Swimming without a suit?” Carmilla asked playfully, her eyes focusing hard on not flicking down to see Laura’s naked body for herself. Laura, feeling bold and exhilarated and like everything about the moment was a fleeting thing soon to crash around them, reached around Carmilla and pulled the tie of her suit top. It undid easily, floating toward the surface. Laura made quick work of the tie around Carmilla’s neck and then she was topless, the lost garment drifting away from them as they kept afloat.

 

Carmilla’s face was a delightful shade of red, her blush working its way from her chest to her neck up into her cheeks. Laura wanted to kiss her all over, press her against one of the walls and touch her until she came.

 

But Carmilla hadn’t kissed her since they were in her apartment, since they had made the rash decision to sneak Laura to Nice, and while the cuddling and hand holding had been lovely, Laura needed to know she was not alone in what she wanted.

 

She desired Carmilla.

 

She wanted to be with her.

 

In every sense.

 

This was not some fling.

 

Not to her.

 

Not anymore.

 

_Not ever._

 

Carmilla hand pressed against her stomach, pushing her back until Laura’s shoulders brushed against the side of the pool. Carmilla’s arms came up to brace against the edge, holding herself just far enough away from Laura to keep from touching her but close enough that Laura couldn’t slip away.

 

“I would like to touch you now.” Carmilla said, voice low and rough and causing Laura to forget to swim for a moment.

 

Laura’s tongue felt like it was swollen. She couldn’t speak, could barely keep herself afloat. Carmilla’s eyes bore into her own, gaze unwavering.

 

“I want to be clear. I did not bring you here just to...” She swallowed, clearly uncomfortable, but then her face settled in a regal impassiveness. “You do not have to do this. If you think you are under some obligation to, you need to know you aren’t. I selfishly did not want to be far from you. But you are not required to do...anything. I don’t want you to think you are some...some...toy.”

 

Carmilla’s arms fell from around Laura’s shoulders as she pushed away, swimming backwards.

 

Laura’s hand flashed out and caught her wrist.

 

Carmilla seemed stunned but let herself be hauled back in.

 

Laura finally found her voice, her head reeling and her heart hammering and her desperation to touch Carmilla growing tenfold every moment they were separated.

 

“Please kiss me. Touch me. I’ll beg if you need me to but Carm, please just-”

 

Carmilla cut her off with a deep kiss, pressing her back into the pool’s edge. Their bodies slipped against one another, both accidentally sinking into the water as they forgot to swim.

 

“You don’t have to-”

 

“God, Carm, I want you to. I want you to so, so badly.”

 

Laura could barely suppress her moan as Carmilla murmured a ragged _oh Laura_ against her mouth.

 

 

 

–

 

 

 

“Oh, there, more, please.” Laura whined, her thighs tightening against Carmilla’s ears.

 

Carmilla couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel; could feel how wet Laura was, how taught her muscles had become, how sharp the pull of her hands in her hair were. All of it made it double her efforts, her tongue slipping down to swipe lower, lower, until Laura was muttering obscenities under hear breath like prayers.

 

“Oh, fuck Carm.”

 

Her voice was high, impossibly high, and Carmilla hummed against her as she moved up to focus on her clit.

 

Laura’s gasps made her hum again and then became full, desperate whimpers. Carmilla couldn’t take it. She flicked against Laura’s clit, speeding up with every pass, and then her fingers were pressing into her, pumping slow in comparison, but it did the trick. Laura bucked against her, hard and erratic and as addicting as anything Carmilla had ever experience.

 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck...” A litany of curses spilled out of Laura as she came and Carmilla welcomed them all.

 

She slowed her tongue, her fingers still gently moving in and out, and then stilled everything. Carefully, she slipped out of Laura and crawled up her body, dropping kisses across her tanned skin; the freckle by her navel, the birthmark on her ribs, just shy of nipples.

 

Laura’s hands pulled her up faster than she wanted, fastening their mouths together in a messy kiss that was more panting than anything else.

 

“I’m going to make you scream in a minute.” Laura playfully booped Carmilla’s nose, taking some of the threat out of her words. “I just need...a bit…because that was...” Laura made an exploding sound with her mouth and mimed her brain imploding.

 

Carmilla laughed, full and warm, letting her head drop Laura’s shoulder. She kissed the skin there, then sucked at it, just enjoying the taste of her.

 

“Your laugh is so pretty.” Laura said dreamily, hands ghosting down Carmilla’s back to land on her ass. She started moving her arms, encouraging Carmilla to rock against her thigh.

 

Carmilla laughed again at the lazy come-on, but her hips followed the instruction.

 

“I don’t laugh very much.” Carmilla said, her breath already falling short.

 

Laura hummed, flipping them over so Carmilla was pinned beneath her with such little effort that Carmilla was concerned she hadn’t given her as great of an orgasm as she’d implied.

 

The worry fell out of her thoughts as Laura ground down against her, hitting her exactly where she needed to be touched.

 

“I know.” Laura continued, her hips never stopping. “I like that you laugh with me.”

 

Carmilla felt her breathing hitch and not from the way Laura’s body was pressing against her own.

 

Laura stopped, sensing something was off. Carmilla couldn’t look away from her. For a long moment, they just stared at one another, long panting breaths.

 

Carmilla couldn’t understand it, couldn’t place it, but Laura somehow unlocked a part of herself she had hidden away for years. She never laughed. Not ever. Not if she could help it. But Laura knew what her laugh sounded like, knew it enough to like it.

 

In an instant, Carmilla had flipped them over again so that she was straddling Laura.

 

She leaned down, her lip brushing the shell of Laura’s ear.

 

“How about I make you scream before you get to me?”

 

Laura shuddered beneath her but was nodding as Carmilla pulled back, her hands finding their way back into Carmilla’s hair as she slipped down her body once more.

 

 

 

–

 

 

 

Laura tossed a strawberry in her mouth, flicking through the hundreds of TV channels that were available.

 

Sure, she was in a beautiful city in France with the Queen of England, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy satellite for a few hours. Plus, Carmilla had been whisked away by her assistant; something about an “organized candid photo op”, which had made Carmilla roll her eyes. She’d kissed Laura before she left, in front of her assistant, and the glow it had left Laura in nearly sent her floating into the sky.

 

It was only their fourth day in Nice; most of the other days had been spent rather indisposed. Laura blushed to think of what the security guards had overheard. But Laura was loving spending so much time with Carmilla; seeing what she looked like when she woke, learning how she liked her tea, finding out how sloppy she was. Every day brought a new discovery.

 

Laura ignored how enamored she felt in favor of flicking through more TV channels. She had just decided on a baking show when a news station caught her eye; it was the picture of Carmilla with the hickey. She turned up the volume, wondering why they were still reporting about it.

 

“-first time we have seen our new Queen so happy. Who can forget her summer in the Netherlands? Though sources say nothing transpired between the two royals, no one can deny the chemistry between the Dutch Princess and our Queen. One has to wonder if Princess Eltja’s impending visit will cause any tension with the Queen’s new prospect.”

 

A photo flashed up on the screen as the newscasters spoke, from what looked to be an old tabloid. Carmilla was younger in it, so different from the woman she knew now. She was laughing, head thrown back as if she had no care in the world, with her arm lazily around a slim blonde girl who was hiding her face in Carmilla’s neck.

 

Laura was not a jealous person.

 

It had never been in her nature.

 

She hadn’t known Carmilla then.

 

She couldn’t have been older than twenty, twenty one.

 

But the hot pulse that shot through Laura at the image cause her to almost throw the remote at the television. She clicked it off, but the image was still burned into her mind.

 

Carmilla laughing, so easily.

 

Laughing with someone that wasn’t her.

 

_She’s going to ruin you._

 

Laura could feel the nerves working up her spin, the urge to run. She leaped off the couch and ran up the stairs, throwing on the first clothes she could find. It was a pair of jeans and one of Carmilla’s ratty t-shirts. Laura didn’t particularly care.

 

She was confused.

 

Annoyed.

 

Mostly at herself, at how childish she felt.

 

At how weak Carmilla made her that she had devolved into a jealous, irrational being.

 

She huffed angrily as she stormed out of the front door, slamming the door behind her. A guard attempted to ask her if she needed anything but Laura just threw her hands up before shouting she had to run some errands and bolting down the road.

 

 

 

–

 

 

 

Carmilla nervously paced the living room, the open windows and minimal furniture giving her ample space to move.

 

Laura was gone.

 

Just like that.

 

She’d returned from her stupid “candid” photo shoot at the beach to discover Laura had fled the villa without her phone, wallet, or luggage. Her security team had explained that Laura went to run some errands.

 

But that had been nearly eight hours ago and it was dark and Carmilla was ready to send out a search party.

 

Laura had told her she’d never been to France.

 

Where the hell could she have gone with no money, no ID, and no phone?

 

The front door opened and then, quickly, it shut again.

 

Carmilla’s breath stalled in her chest.

 

Laura walked into the room, head hung low.

 

She looked fine; a bit flustered and her hair was windblown, but all in all she was in one piece.

 

Carmilla couldn’t stop herself from crossing the long room to hold her. She wrapped her arms around Laura’s body and buried her face in Laura’s hair. She smelled like sweat and salt and still vaguely like perfume. She took in a few deep, slow breaths before being able to speak.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Laura nodded and relief flooded through Carmilla’s veins.

 

“I’m sorry I left.”

 

Carmilla pulled back, keeping her hands on Laura’s waist.

 

“You’re allowed to leave, Laura, you don’t need my permission. I just...you didn’t have your phone, I didn’t know if something was wrong. The guard, he seemed to think-”

 

“I got jealous.”

 

Laura slipped out of Carmilla’s arms and crossed to stand on the other side of the room near the balcony.

 

Carmilla was confused.

 

“Jealous?”

 

Laura’s body was tense, tight and ridged and she looked more uncomfortable than Carmilla had ever seen her.

 

She kept her back to Carmilla, arms crossed over her chest.

 

“It was stupid, the news. They are still talking about it, about that photo, and they were talking about you and how you looked like you did with...with some...with some _princess_ and I...” Laura whirled around, her anger evident on her face.

 

“And I got jealous! I didn’t like it, seeing you with someone else. And I know it was stupid and you’re not who was in the pictures anymore and you took me to _France_ but I hated it, hated _her._ I’ve never hated anyone like that. I didn’t like it. I don’t like it. I don’t like what you do to me and how you make me feel and we aren’t even together; I can’t be jealous. You’re not mine.”

 

Carmilla felt the words leave her mouth before she could register them.

 

“Yes, I am.”

 

Laura’s nose scrunched up.

 

“You’re...”

 

“Yours.” Carmilla said quietly.

 

It was true.

 

She had said it under different circumstances, ones where there had been moaning and sweat and kisses dropped on any available skin. But she needed to make it clear.

 

She was Laura’s then, undoubtedly.

 

But she was also Laura’s outside of that. She was Laura’s when she woke, angry at the dawn. She was Laura’s when she fought with her mother, arguing over who had rights to her father’s old office. She was Laura’s when she was signing letters to ambassadors, when she was dealing with Parliament, when she was getting a drink in a dingy pub.

 

She was Laura’s through it all.

 

Denying it any longer was pointless.

 

Denying it any longer was wrong.

 

She had been Laura's since long ago.

 

“Oh.” Laura said, her shoulders dropping. “I...I didn’t...”

 

Carmilla took a tentative step forward.

 

“Are you...are you mine also?”

 

The words felt formal, odd. But Carmilla felt like it was the only way to ask.

 

She’d offered herself; she knew it would backfire, that this only ended in heartache, but she had done it. And she needed to know if she was standing by herself or if Laura was there with her.

 

Laura studied her a moment, a long breath that made Carmilla’s knees start to shake, then moved across the room.

 

Gently, like Laura was afraid she would vanish, she tangled her fingers with Carmilla’s. She leaned forward, her lips brushing feather light against Carmilla's cheek before she reconsidered and pressed firmer against her skin.

 

When she spoke, her breath was warm and certain in Carmilla's ear. 

 

“Yours.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Many. Things.
> 
> I'm really, really interested (afraid/excited/holding my breath) for what you guys think of this chapter. This is where we hit a different gear, kids. SHIT. IS. HAPPENIN'. NOW. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think! YOU GUYS ARE JUST FUN TO TALK TO so its def exciting to chat with you guys about this shiz. I appreciate you all coming back to read it time and again, even between my long as fuck waits between updates. YA RULE, BRUHS. 
> 
> Okay, now everyone go pet a dog.


	11. A Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carmilla and Laura hide away in Nice a little longer, but both realize they can't hide forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya know, i won't even bother with my "sorry it took so long", you guys know the drill. 
> 
> thanks so much for coming back though! y'all are the damn best, i tell ya. 
> 
> let me know what you think - this chapter was a bitch for reasons i can't even identify. but i'm happy with where we landed and i hope you are too. moving into the plot now, LETS DO THIS.

 

 

 

Laura hated mornings.

 

They came too fast, too brightly. They stole hours away from her, hours she needed for work and sleep and general self care. She was terrible with them. They always shamed her somehow, knowing she hadn’t achieved all she’d meant to the day before and mocked her for being beaten by dawn again.

 

She despised them for how they made her feel so behind.

 

So hurried.

 

So wasteful with her time.

 

Laura _hated_ mornings.

 

She hated them...until she didn’t.

 

Until France.

 

And Nice.

 

And Carmilla.

 

Carmilla.

 

“You snore, did you know that?”

 

Carmilla hummed low in her throat, her eyes staying closed. Laura bit her lip to fight off an early morning grin, feeling as blush rose to her cheeks.

 

“Queens do not snore.” Carmilla grumbled, inching closer, her hands blindly finding Laura’s waist and attempting to tug her against her under the rumpled sheets.

 

Laura stifled a laugh and pushed Carmilla’s wandering hands away.

 

“Easy there. Don’t start something you aren’t awake enough to finish.”

 

Carmilla’s forehead crinkled at that, a low, protesting whine following, and the sound shook loose a set of skittering heartbeats in Laura’s chest. Laura settled her by tangling their fingers together, Carmilla’s thumbs rubbing softly against the inside of Laura’s wrists.

 

Laura wondered if she could feel how wildly her pulse was beating.

 

It always seemed to thrum wildly around Carmilla. 

 

She hoped she could feel, feel how intensely Laura was affected. 

 

She hoped she affected Carmilla the same way. 

 

Carmilla tugged on Laura's hands, attempting to pull her closer. Laura held back, keeping her ground. She wanted to look at her, see her. 

 

There was so much of Carmilla, so much she didn't let people see, and Laura was anxious to discover it all. What made her tick, what made her happy, what made her scared? Did she hate a certain food or love a terrible song or could she juggle? The thoughts pinged around her head like marbles, clacking against one another and deafening her as they piled up.

 

She needed to slow down. 

 

There was time for questions later. 

 

For now, she should just see.

 

Laura took a deep breath, filling her lungs and holding it a second to long, then let herself look; indulging in the study of Carmilla’s mouth, her jaw, the slope of her nose. She coasted her eyes along the fine hairs of her eyebrows, the smoothness of her cheeks, the dipping drop that fed into her neck.

 

She looked so young, pouting among the white pillows, dark hair messily tangled around her; sweet and soft and untouched. The sheet was tucked up around her shoulder, hiding the naked body underneath, and Laura was tempted to tug it down and give into Carmilla’s sleepy advances; press into her, feel how hot and warm and alive she was. But Carmilla's grumpy face was too charming, too endearing, and Laura wanted to revel in their early morning haze a little longer.

 

She wanted to just _look._  

 

Laura wanted to see.

 

See Carmilla loose and tired and open. See her youthful and quiet and unmeasured. See her without the title, without her name, just as a girl with a heart that pulled Laura in like a siren calling to a sailor.

 

It was an addiction, Laura realized, looking at Carmilla. She couldn’t have predicted it, though she knew it was one she wouldn’t be able shake. 

 

She loved it.

 

She loved seeing Carmilla so free, so unburdened.

 

She loved knowing that Carmilla snored, that she was handsy even in rest, that she slept with just one pillow because she’d toss any extras off the bed unconsciously.

 

She loved feeling Carmilla’s arm around her waist at night, hearing her breath deepen as she slowly slipped into sleep, smelling their perfumes mixed on the sheets.

 

Laura loved…

 

Laura loved...

 

 _Her_.

 

The thought struck deep and resonant as she looked at Carmilla. It made her gasp, the air seeming to rush in and out of her chest in equal measure.

 

She loved her.

 

_She loved her._

 

Laura’s heart thumped warmly in her chest, heavy and light and all kinds of wanting.

 

_You have loved her for a while._

 

The little knowing voice inside her called her bluff, took away the surprise, and needled her with the truth of it.

 

It was true.

 

The feeling had been there, unlabeled and waiting to be called upon and desperate for defining; but for so long there had been such confusion.

 

Such uncertainty.

 

_Does she want me as much as I want her?_

 

_Does this mean anything to her?_

 

_Are we together?_

 

_Are we together?_

 

Carmilla shifted, a warm hand sliding up Laura’s arm to wander around to her back. Laura was tugged forward, their bodies slipping flush, as Carmilla wrapped a leg over her hip.

 

“Too far.” Carmilla breathed, voice raspy and low and nearly inaudible.

 

Her voice was so tired, so soft that Laura wasn’t certain Carmilla was awake enough to know she’d spoken.

 

But Laura was awake enough to have heard, to have felt the comfort in the those sleepy words.

 

They _were_ together.

 

Finally.

 

After everything.

 

They were _together_.

 

_Yours._

 

_Mine._

 

Those words had felt like an admission. 

 

Like a promise.

 

They were together.

 

And Laura loved her.

 

She loved the Queen of England.

 

She loved _Carmilla._

 

Laura sank into Carmilla’s embrace, winding her arms around her body until they were tangled in a hug. She let herself breathe in deep, holding the smell of Carmilla’s shampoo in her lungs, and then relaxed it away.

 

She'd look at her more another day.

 

With the soft rays of dawn filtering around them and Carmilla’s warm skin pressed to her own, Laura realized, for the first time, she couldn’t find a reason to hate the morning.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura hummed.

 

Softly, to herself, no tune in particular.

 

It was a habit, something she did unconsciously when she was alone or lost in thought. It was usually low, slow, and accompanied by her body gently swaying back and forth. She wasn’t aware she did it, couldn’t notice it because it was just a natural instinct; something she did without thought, without motive, without meaning.

 

Carmilla noticed.

 

She couldn’t _stop_ noticing.

 

The humming was just one of a thousand things Carmilla couldn’t help but notice about Laura.

 

It was like Carmilla was tuned into her, unable to change her focus.

 

She knew she wouldn’t want her focus to change, even if she had the power.

 

She _loved_ discovering all Laura’s hidden pieces, the bits she kept to herself, the parts no one else knew.

 

Carmilla loved being their keeper, being trusted with their knowledge. 

 

There was the way she wouldn’t let anyone help her, even with little things.

 

Carmilla had offered to open a jar earlier in the week, one she had watched Laura struggle with for nearly ten minutes as they were attempting to cobble a homemade meal together, and Laura had glared at her so hard that Carmilla had to sit down.

 

Then there were the questions; about anything and nothing and everything in between.

 

Laura was endlessly curious, but never about things Carmilla would even think to wonder about, would even think that Laura would want to know.

 

“Have you ever broken a bone?” She’d asked one morning, while Carmilla was drifting in and out of sleep.

 

“Bone?” Carmilla mumbled, blearily opening her eyes.

 

Laura was twirling her hair around her finger, laying back in the white sheets with her face scrunched up adorably. 

 

“Broken one. Have you? Do you still have your wisdom teeth? Or your appendix?”

 

Carmilla could barely register words in the morning, let alone answer questions. Who cared about such things, especially before noon? She had grabbed Laura by her sleep shirt and tugged her down into a kiss in effort to shut her up.

 

And it did.

 

For a few intense, pleasurable hours.

 

But after that, Carmilla learned Laura’s mind just didn’t stop.

 

She was constantly thinking, wondering, questioning everything around her.

 

Laura was a live-wire, buzzing with electricity and ready to spark.

 

And her electric energy was focused on Carmilla.

 

It was hard to fathom.

 

That the woman Carmilla wanted, _wanted her back_.

 

And it wasn’t just physical want, though that was there.

 

Laura wanted to know the small, insignificant bits about Carmilla; her favorite books, the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, her biggest fear as a child.

 

Laura wanted it all.

 

And more wonderful still, Carmilla wanted to tell her. 

 

She wanted to share all the secret hollows of herself with Laura, show her the painful shadows she'd so hidden before. 

 

Before. 

 

Carmilla tried not to think about before. 

 

About how different this was, about how Laura shattered all her thoughts about before. 

 

Carmilla had thought she wanted to show herself to someone before, thought she wanted to be vulnerable and open and truly herself before. To answer those endless questions, to trust someone with the answers, to bare the parts of herself she didn't care for. 

 

But the more Carmilla was with Laura, the more she realized that hadn't been true at all. 

 

Before had been second guessing and nervousness and wariness. 

 

But Laura...

 

Carmilla didn't mind answering those constant questions, didn't mind letting Laura see. 

 

Because she wanted to see, too. 

 

Carmilla kept trying to, to notice and learn everything she could about Laura. 

 

She wanted to.

 

She _needed_ to.

 

Carmilla had discovered things; aside from the humming, the wondering, the stubborn need to finish what she starts.

 

Laura let her see her, let her look, even when the things she found weren't pretty; weren't lovely. 

 

The continual thoughts whirling through Laura’s head, the ones that asked so many questions and made her so wonderful, also lead her to insecurity.

 

Sometimes, they would be sitting by the pool in different lounge chairs and Carmilla could see Laura over analyzing the distance. Laura would shift around uncomfortably on her chair until, with a huff, she moved to plop in Carmilla’s lap. She'd want Carmilla to touch her, hold her, and Carmilla knew it was because Laura second guessed what they were doing. 

 

She hated that Laura was still unsure. 

 

That Carmilla still made her uncertain. 

 

Other times, Laura would seem surprised when Carmilla would kiss her without going further than that.

 

Carmilla had kissed Laura when they woke up, a soft peck that wasn't meant to go beyond a morning greeting. Laura froze after, eyes wide, as Carmilla pulled on a loose shirt and a pair of sweatpants. It had taken Carmilla nearly half a day to realize Laura was surprised by Carmilla's affection, by her physical closeness without expectation. 

 

Carmilla made a point to kiss her often after that, to touch her more, to hold her hand and push it no further.

 

She wanted Laura to see.

 

She needed Laura to see. 

 

Carmilla was in this. 

 

And not like before. 

 

She needed Laura to know the difference. 

 

To erase that uncertainty. 

 

She just didn't know how to tell her. 

 

"Are you ready for your shoot?" 

 

Carmilla's head snapped up to see Lola standing in the doorway of the bathroom, hands tapping away on her phone even as she looked at Carmilla. 

 

Carmilla sighed, tugging on the leather jacket she knew would annoy her mother. 

 

"Where are we going today, Lola?" 

 

Lola smiled, her nails still clicking away.

 

"The Colline du Château. You like that, don't you?"

 

Carmilla thought of Laura, who was sitting by the pool in her pajamas with a ratty book in her lap. 

 

She did love the Colline du Château. 

 

She wondered if Laura would too. 

 

_You'll never know._

 

The angry voice in her head spit the words at her. 

 

She sighed, nodding to Lola. 

 

"Take me to the castle on the hill." 

 

 

-

 

 

Laura had made a point to not watch the news anymore.

 

Not since...the incident. 

 

The jealousy and the running and the knowledge that Carmilla had been with a _princess_ before her.

 

She didn't like to think about it, about her behavior, but with Carmilla gone it was hard not to.

 

Laura was never good at self preservation or even rule following, so as Carmilla headed out to another "candid" paparazzi run in, Laura found herself in a dangerous, precarious place. 

 

Google. 

 

She had wanted to ask Carmilla about _Princess Eltja_  since the night she ran out; the jealousy that had spiked through her, that had fissured through her ribs and made them feel like knives, was still there. 

 

Eased.

 

Sedated. 

 

Comforted by Carmilla's admission of wanting to be together. 

 

_Yours._

 

But Laura couldn't shake the girl out of her head; the petite blonde with slim features and slight build. 

 

The way she had been wrapped around Carmilla, the familiar nature of their posture. 

 

Laura loved Carmilla. 

 

 _She_ loved her.

 

Not some princess from years ago. 

 

That girl did not get to love her. 

 

Laura flushed, embarrassed by her own thoughts. 

 

She hated this feeling, the envy and anger and undeserved rage. 

 

But still, she couldn't stop herself. 

 

Her fingers googled without her permission. 

 

_"Princess Carmilla and Princess Eltja"_

 

Thousands of links popped up, pages on pages of fan sites and tabloids and vicious, cruel headlines. Articles wondering about Carmilla's sexuality to Princess Eltja's motives to whether or not the pair were virgins. There were photos of the girls wandering the beaches of Terschelling, holding hands along the banks of the Amsterdam canals, blurred shots of the pair hidden behind warped windows in the Noordeinde Palace. 

 

All of it made Laura flush, sweaty with guilt.

 

The jealousy leaked out of her, fast and cold and gone in a breath.

 

Instead, horror took its place. 

 

Horror at the treatment of two young women, disgust at the constant coverage, anger at the men and women who sold Carmilla's youth for their gain. 

 

Laura closed the images and turned off her phone. 

 

Her throat tightened. 

 

She was no better than they were; judging Carmilla based on a few images, deciding about Princess Eltja with no information other than the flash of feeling a few pixels could induce. Laura dropped her phone onto the lounge chair and walked to the edge of the patio, reaching the balcony's edge and leaning against the old stone railing. 

 

Below her, Nice stretched out in all directions; sprawling and old and lovely. 

 

Carmilla was down there somewhere, being photographed in the same way she had been with the Dutch Princess. 

 

Shown off.

 

Manipulated. 

 

Trapped. 

 

It made Laura's chest ache. 

 

Was that to be Carmilla's life? 

 

Was that what she was destined for? 

 

And what of Laura, of them together? 

 

Names in headlines, faces splashed on tabloids, comparisons between first and second loves?

 

What happened to them beyond Nice, beyond this wonderful, blissful reprieve? 

 

As the sun neared its highest point, Laura couldn't say. 

 

And as it began sinking toward the horizon, her mind was still empty.

 

 

-

 

 

“Do you ever wish it were different?”

 

Carmilla opened her eyes, squinting into the sharp afternoon light.

 

She'd only gotten back from her organized paparazzi shoot an half hour earlier and had been relaxing after the demeaning ordeal.

 

When her eyes focused, Carmilla could see Laura leaning against the balcony rail, her gaze fixed over the city. Her hair was messily piled on top her head, her back bare, body only hidden beneath a dark pair of boy shorts. Carmilla suddenly wondered why she had been resting her eyes when _that_ was the sight before her.

 

Ignoring the warmth of desire that released into her veins, she pulled herself up from her slouched position on the patio chair.

 

Carmilla had a suspicion she’d need to sit up straight for this conversation.

 

“Wish what were different?”

 

Laura’s shoulders relaxed as she sighed, her head dipping down.

 

“I don’t know.” She muttered.

 

Carmilla hummed, certain there was more there.

 

Should she press?

 

It had never been her nature.

 

It had never been allowed.

 

_You take what others give you, ‘Milla._

 

_Never ask for more._

 

_It will show you have a curiosity, a weakness._

 

Weakness.

 

Looking at Laura’s sun golden skin, the fine loose hairs around her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders; Carmilla wondered if this was the weakness her mother had warned her about.

 

But it didn’t feel like weakness.

 

It felt like power.

 

Lightning and crashing waves and blinding, terrifying gales.

 

Uncontrolled.

 

Relentless.

 

Magnificent.

 

Like a promise.

 

“I think you do know.”

 

Carmilla could almost hear her mother’s scolding voice.

 

_Don’t let them know you’re curious._

 

_Once they hook you, they have you._

 

_People will use curiosity against you._

 

“Will you please tell me what you really are wondering about?”

 

Carmilla’s voice wasn’t as certain as she wished it to be; there was a tremble beneath her words, an underlying fear as to what different things Laura was wondering about.

 

_Do you wish we’d met another way?_

 

_Do you wish we knew what we were doing?_

 

_Do you wish you weren’t Queen?_

 

Carmilla braced herself for that last one to be the true question.

 

It would not be the first time someone had asked it.

 

Had wanted it.

 

She briefly thought of the Netherlands, of the other girl who had asked such a question.

 

Carmilla held her breath, holding for the gut punch she knew that she’d feel.

 

Instead, Laura turned and wandered toward her, making no attempt to cover herself from Carmilla’s gaze. Gently, she lowered herself into Carmilla’s lap and draped her arms around Carmilla’s neck.

 

Ever so slowly, Laura leaned forward and kissed her; soft, easy, sweet. Carmilla still had to stifle an embarrassing whine as Laura pulled away.

 

“Don’t you wish you could go places as you like? There’s a whole city down there and you can’t see it, really. Not like a person. How does it not drive you mad, being trapped all the time?”

 

Carmilla looked up at Laura, her face so open and curious yet agitated on Carmilla’s behalf.

 

It took her breath away.

 

Laura wasn’t asking because she was annoyed they couldn’t go out, that Carmilla wasn’t a normal girlfriend.

 

She was worried about Carmilla, bothered on her behalf.

 

No one had ever thought of Carmilla without it being in relation to themselves before.

 

Not until Laura.

 

Carmilla swallowed the tremble from her throat, shoving aside the part of her chest that seemed to crack open at Laura’s kindness.

 

“Why do you think I walk at night?” She breathed, leaning forward and kissing Laura once, twice, three times. Laura pulled back on the last one, forcing Carmilla to shove down yet another embarrassing sound.

 

“Have you always done that?” She breathed, kissing Carmilla softly after.

 

Carmilla nodded into the kiss, mind getting hazy as to why they were still talking but Laura pulled back enough that she knew she was expecting an answer.

 

“My father taught me how to sneak out of the palace, how to avoid security. He used to tell me a little lonely mischief made a better monarch.”

 

Carmilla leaned forward, anxious to move past talk of her father and to continue kissing Laura’s pink mouth, but suddenly there were warm hands cupping her face, tilting her gaze upward.

 

Laura’s warm eyes were soft, a little sad, as their gazes met. Carmilla wanted to ask what was wrong but Laura beat her to the punch.

 

“You’ve been lonely.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

It was a statement, as sure as any she had ever heard.

 

Carmilla’s throat tightened.

 

_Be wary of leading statements, ‘Milla._

 

_They will trick you into revealing parts better left hidden._

 

Her mother’s words cut at her, slicing fearful stings into her chest.

 

“Yes.” Carmilla offered, aware her voice was trembling. “I think my father was too.”

 

Laura’s thumbs swiped along Carmilla’s cheek bones and Carmilla ached to erase the sadness that colored Laura’s eyes as she looked down at her.

 

She _had_ been lonely.

 

And Carmilla believed her father, while so joyful in life, had carried the same feeling in his chest that she did.

 

They were so alike.

 

Or so she kept being told, now that he was no longer with them.

 

Carmilla had once been so desperately lonely.

 

But she wasn’t now.

 

Not with Laura.

 

Not when she got to _be_ with Laura.

 

But how could she say that?

 

How could she show her?

 

Carmilla had never done well with displays of affection. They came off stilted or awkward or insincere. They’d never been encouraged or even expected.

 

She was a princess, then queen.

 

And royalty is to be adored, not show adoration.

 

But Carmilla needed Laura to know.

 

To feel, to feel how she felt about her.

 

How she…

 

How she…

 

“Will you go somewhere with me?” Carmilla asked.

 

Laura’s brows knit together, thrown by the sudden subject change, but nodded.

 

"I'd go anywhere with you..." Laura breathed. 

 

Carmilla’s chest felt swollen with her words, tight and too full and beyond enamored.

 

“But how can we go somewhere? Won’t the paparazzi see us?”

 

Carmilla smiled at Laura’s confusion, leaning up to kiss her. Laura let herself be taken away by the action, her mouth warm and pliable beneath Carmilla’s.

 

“Just wait.” Carmilla breathed as her hands slid up to cup Laura’s breasts, a low noise leaving Laura’s mouth at the action.

 

“I’ve never been good at waiting.” Laura panted into her mouth, legs shifting to straddle Carmilla as she leaned into her touch.

 

With a smirk, Carmilla deepened the kiss, her heart thumping wildly in her chest.

 

“I promise to make the wait worthwhile.” She murmured against Laura’s mouth, dragging her thumbs roughly over Laura’s nipples.

 

_A promise._

 

Laura rocked against Carmilla’s lap in response, nodding her head as her hands moved to clasp onto Carmilla’s shoulders, finding purchase as she continued to grind down.

 

“You better.” Laura growled as she swallowed Carmilla’s laugh with a searing kiss.

 

 

–

 

 

Laura’s toe hit an upturned rock and she stumbled into Carmilla.

 

“This isn’t exactly what I thought you had in mind about going somewhere.” She huffed, her toe throbbing.

 

Carmilla laughed lightly, so beautifully, in the dark, her torch pointed along the path. With a hand held out to steady Laura, she gave a smug grin.

 

“What exactly did you have in mind, Miss Hollis?”

 

Laura ignored the ripple of desire that flared through her at the formality and shook her head.

 

“I didn’t think we were going hiking.”

 

Carmilla hummed, threading her fingers through Laura’s.

 

“I like walking at night,” Was all she offered.

 

It took Laura’s breath away.

 

It was one of the few things she knew about Carmilla, was certain of.

 

The night and Carmilla went together like breath and air.

 

When Carmilla had shoved her awake at two a.m. Laura was certain there would be far more breathless reasons for it. However, as they climbed up a steep hiking trail, Laura realized she wasn’t exactly wrong.

 

“Isn’t it unsafe for the Queen of England to hike around in the dark? What if you fall? I’ll be accused of trying to assassinated you and be executed.”

 

Carmilla laughed again, stopping and pulling Laura tight against her. Laura startled, yelping as her chest collided with Carmilla’s. In the dark, she could barely make out the shapes of Carmilla’s face, the torchlight sending soft shadows up her cheek bones and making her look like a statue carved from marble.

 

"I'd never let them hurt you." Carmilla breathed, eyes clear and full of mirth. 

 

Laura wanted to continue their banter, be annoyed at the dark wandering Carmilla was taking her on and poke fun about how little good that would do if Carmilla had fallen off the side of cliff, but she couldn't. 

 

Not when Carmilla's face fell to seriousness, when her eyes kept hold of Laura's as if she'd disappear if she looked away. 

 

"I won't let them hurt you." Carmilla whispered, the arm around Laura's waist tightening. 

 

It felt like a promise.

 

Laura couldn't breathe.

 

_Oh, I love her so._

 

She thought of those pictures, the invasion of privacy, and the headlines that tore Carmilla to shreds. 

 

"I wish I could say the same to you." Laura murmured, embarrassed but determined to let Carmilla know that she'd protect her if she could.

 

_If only she could._

 

She wished it felt more like a promise and less like an apology. 

 

There was a stutter, a brief break in Carmilla's calm facade; her face open and young and so, so sad. And then she was walking again, Laura's hand clasped firmly in her own, leading her higher still; the dark trail around them closed in tighter but Carmilla walked determinedly into it with Laura at her heels. 

 

 

-

 

 

"Nietzsche used to hike in France, did you know?" 

 

Laura was sitting on the ground, eyes taking in the view of the city from the high hill Carmilla had forced her to march up. 

 

Carmilla felt a little bad about it, rousing Laura in the middle of the night and dragging her up a nearby overgrown hiking trail. But with Laura's wild hair hanging about her shoulders and the sparse city lights flickering in her eyes, the guilt seeped out of her. 

 

Carmilla would have traded everything to ensure she got to feel this moment; sitting atop of city with the girl she loved. 

 

_Loved._

 

The word pulsed in her, hot and loud and true. Carmilla felt her knees weaken at the acceptance of it, at the truth of it, and was about to let it spill out when Laura answered. 

 

"Was Nietzsche an idiot?" 

 

Carmilla barked out a laugh, loud and unruly. 

 

It felt good. 

 

New.

 

Wonderful. 

 

" _I slept well, I laughed a lot, and I found a marvelous vigor and patience._ " Carmilla said, looking down at Laura from her perch leaning against a tree.

 

Laura glared up at her.

 

"He said that?"

 

Carmilla hummed, nodding, enjoying how annoyed Laura looked.

 

"What a _blowhard._ " 

 

_I love you._

 

Carmilla thought, the sentence itching to fall from her lips. Laura wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, huffing as she shook the sweat from it. She looked up at Carmilla and threw out her damp hand, wiggling her fingers. Carmilla grabbed it and let herself be tugged to the ground.

 

Laura nestled her head against Carmilla's shoulder, clutching onto her arm.

 

"I know I complained a bit..."

 

"A bit?" Carmilla scoffed, which earned a light shove.

 

It made her heart ache, how easy it all felt.

 

Laura sighed against her, lacing their fingers together.

 

"Thank you for taking me here."

 

Carmilla wasn't sure if Laura was referring to the darkened hill top or Nice or something else entirely.

 

She wanted to ask, to verify what Laura was thankful for, to see if they were on the same page.

 

She wondered if Laura knew, understood, how Carmilla felt about her. 

 

She thought of those hesitant moments, those kisses Laura still seemed so shocked by, the insecurity she could feel when they hadn't touched in a few hours. 

 

Carmilla wanted to erase that, to assure Laura somehow.

 

But how could she?

 

How do you prove you love someone?

 

How can you tell them and make them hear it?

 

The thoughts ached in Carmilla's chest, confused and anxious and heavy.

 

But as the night air chilled around them, with their bodies tucked so snugly against one another, Carmilla let her wonders lie.

 

For now, she let herself stare out over a city that wasn't hers with the one women she wished could be hers always. 

 

 

-

 

 

Carmilla had cried out her name like a prayer, like a promise, when she came. 

 

It was loud and high and had made Laura feel like a god.

 

Her fingers had been inside her, curling and focused, and Carmilla's body bowed like an archer had strung her back, ready to fire. 

 

Carmilla had shaken in her arms, grinding up into her hand with desperate necessity. 

 

Laura had never cried during sex.

 

Feeling Carmilla cling to her, listening to her beg and whine and need, feeling how much Carmilla wanted her...

 

It was the closest Laura had ever come. 

 

And if she'd let herself, fully released herself into the shattering moment, Laura was certain she'd be licking her own tears from Carmilla's sweaty throat. 

 

"I can't...get enough of...you." Carmilla broke out, her painful grip on Laura's back releasing as her body slowly relaxed. 

 

Laura kissed up Carmilla's neck, her heart thundering in her ears. 

 

_I need you._

 

_I can't imagine not getting to touch you._

 

_I am afraid for how much I want you._

 

The thoughts swam in her head, desperate to get out.

 

Instead, she avoided.

 

"I'm glad. I want to keep having you."

 

It sounded lewd, even to her own ears. Nothing of how emotionally tangled she was, how she didn't just want Carmilla for the shaking, orgasm-filled moments. It was nearly crude, how her voice dragged over the words and elicited dirty implications.

 

Laura realized she had made an error as Carmilla stiffened beneath her. 

 

Staring down at the sheets beside Carmilla's shoulder, Laura weighed her options. 

 

Admit to loving Carmilla, to exposing how deeply she had fallen, or lean into the sexual flippancy she'd just displayed. 

 

There was a thunderous moment, one where Laura felt the words try to crawl out her mouth, and then she was shoving them down. She climbed away from Carmilla, pulling herself out of bed and walking to the bathroom in the silence. 

 

Is this who she was?

 

Laura Hollis - bold and brash and _coward?_  

 

Unable to express herself, to tell someone how much she cared for them? 

 

How deeply she - 

 

"I love you, you know." 

 

Laura froze at the doorway to the bathroom. 

 

She looked back at Carmilla sitting up against the messy pillows, the white sheet pulled up just enough to cover her chest. 

 

Carmilla's dark eyes were on her, vulnerable and open and so achingly sincere. 

 

"Because sometimes, you look at me and I don't think you know that. And I want to be clear." 

 

Laura's heart was in her ears, her throat, her veins. Banging and pounding and sending her head into throbbing disbelief. 

 

Carmilla took a breath and looked down, tugging the sheet up higher, shielding herself. 

 

"I'm in love with you, you know. Just...to be clear." 

 

When their eyes met again, Laura could see the thinnest veil of tears threatening to pour over Carmilla's cheeks. 

 

_Say something._

 

_Laura, say something._

 

_God damn it, open your mouth Laura._

 

Carmilla's face flushed in the silence, her jaw tightening. 

 

Carmilla was folding in on herself, Laura could see.

 

She'd handed Laura the keys to her destruction and Laura was fumbling with them; why couldn't she get her mouth to move, to say what she had known for so long now?

 

She loved her.

 

Laura loved her. 

 

And Carmilla loved her back.

 

Laura shook her head, a choking laugh shaking from her chest, and then she was running toward the bed. 

 

She leapt onto Carmilla, tackling her back into the pillows, and covered her face in sloppy kisses.

 

"I love you. I love you. I _love_ you." She finally got out, chanting as she tried to pull Carmilla's mouth to hers and speak at the same time. 

 

Carmilla kissed her messily, tears falling and mixing in their mouths while short, hot laughs left her throat. 

 

She could feel Carmilla everywhere, lighting up her nerves, stitching herself into the very fabric of her skin.

 

Carmilla loved her.

 

_Carmilla loved her._

 

"Oh," Carmilla panted, pressing Laura into the mattress, her hand slipping down to brush against Laura's folds, "Oh god, do you mean it?" 

 

Laura stilled Carmilla's wandering fingers, shoving down the desire that lit up her veins, and forced Carmilla to meet her gaze. 

 

She needed Carmilla to look at her, to see her. 

 

Laura needed to be clear.

 

There was a shaking, shattering moment where Laura and Carmilla just breathed against one another. Laura could feel her insides shivering, her heart racing against her ribs, her body aching to touch her love. 

 

Her _love._

 

 _Her_ love.

 

But she needed Carmilla to know. 

 

To understand. 

 

So she silenced the fears that were scrabbling against her chest, the warning voices that warred in her head, the aching thought of this being a fleeting, finite thing and let her heart lead.

 

"I have never loved anyone the way I love you." Laura managed. 

 

Carmilla laughed, low and free and sounding more practiced. She let her head drop to Laura's chest, taking a few shaking breaths, and then she looked up at Laura again.

 

Carmilla's face broke into a grin, big and wide and different from any smile Laura had ever seen. 

 

It wasn't like the smiles she'd seen in the paparazzi photos or the the ones they had shared half drunk in her pub.

 

It was new. 

 

It was free.

 

It was effortless and endless and beautiful.

 

It was _Laura's._

 

And it felt like a promise. 

 

 

-

 

 

"Carmilla." 

 

Carmilla groaned, shoving the fluttering hand by her face away. 

 

"Carmilla, you have to get up. This instant, I beg you." 

 

Carmilla huffed, annoyed and exhausted. 

 

"What?" She growled, opening her eyes. 

 

Above her, Lola's face hovered, worried and tense. 

 

Immediately, Carmilla's body went on high alert. Her head snapped to her right, looking for Laura and finding the bed empty. 

 

"Where is Laura?" She bit out, her throat tight and afraid.  

 

Lola shook her head, hand reaching out to cup Carmilla's cheek. 

 

"She's fine, she's packing. We have to go back to London. Today." 

 

Carmilla was thrown, confused and afraid but relieved Laura was all right. Her hand blindly reached for the cooling sheets where Laura had once been, wishing her hand had been there to hold. 

 

"What...why...why now? We have another week, at least." 

 

Lola had moved to shuffle through Carmilla's closet, choosing a travel outfit for her. It was business like and put together, a blazer she'd rather die than wear, a skirt more suited for a funeral than a plane ride. 

 

She was going to be seen getting off of the plane.

 

Why was she going to be seen?

 

"Lola, why are we leaving now?"

 

Lola ignored her, laying the outfit out on the edge of the bed. She paused her movements, palms smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles in the pale green blouse. She shuffled back to the closet and came out with a pair of oxfords, sensible and dark. 

 

"Lola. Look at me."

 

Carmilla could feel her world narrowing, senses dulling down until her entire focus was on her assistant. 

 

She'd only felt this feeling once before.

 

A time she'd like to forget.

 

Lola turned her gaze toward Carmilla, eyes sharp and sad and so, so sorry.

 

Carmilla's heart dropped. 

 

She knew that look. 

 

She'd seen it only once before. 

 

Not so long ago.

 

And even before Lola spoke, Carmilla knew everything was about to change. 

 

"It's the Prime Minister." 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUN
> 
> carmilla is losing her allies - but at least she and laura are in love right? right?! 
> 
> anyway, let me know what you guys thought down below and what you think is gonna happen. is this good? is this bad? will mama karnstein try and usurp some more power? will carmilla and laura bang in more inappropriate places? WHO CAN SAY?!
> 
> thank you all again so much for continuing to read this nonsense. its so fun to talk to you guys about it and i appreciate it so much.
> 
> everyone go enjoy their wednesday and have a cocktail. unless you don't like drinking, then have a chocolate milk.


	12. Folded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back from Nice, Laura finds that her life and Carmilla's remain as different as before. And Carmilla bends and bends under her title until something finally breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haaaaaaaaaaaaa i suck, but here it is. 
> 
> i'll never leave this story unfinished - and i do 150% mean that. i may update like a nightmare but DAMN IT i will update. and today's the day! thank you for coming back and checking out the new chapter, i know i'm awful but you guys are the best and i appreciate you putting up with me.
> 
> also i wrote this listening to atlas:heart by sleeping at last on repeat, if you want some mood music. edits made to oblivion by wilsen. do you guys read fic to music? i dunno but here ya go if that's something that gets your engine going.
> 
> without further gay ado, onward.

 

 

“To love her means you share her with the world. You know that, don’t you?”

 

Laura could hear Lola’s words, feel them circling around her like vultures.

 

She could just see the car in the distance, the sleek black sedan driving away with the Queen.

 

With Carmilla.

 

With her heart.

 

She had Laura’s heart.

 

And Laura had hers.

 

They’d said as much, hadn’t they?

 

Laura could still feel the rushed kisses against her lips, taste the desperation in Carmilla’s mouth.

 

_To love her means you share her with the world._

 

_You know that, don’t you?_

 

Laura watched the car disappear down the road, the words settling heavy into her bones.

 

She stood and stared out over the city until her own car came for her.

 

And as she left the hidden villa in Nice, Laura tried to leave Lola’s echoing, aching words with it.

 

 

_-_

 

 

_His hands folded the paper slowly, gently. The soft sound of the pads of his fingers sliding along the edges filled the room, despite the muffled voices from just beyond the door. Another corner tucked just so, edge meeting edge, a final pull and there it was; a thin, ornate party invitation had become a bird._

 

“ _Cranes can live to be thousands of years old, they say.”_

 

_Carmilla wrinkled her nose at that, the tears on her cheeks nothing but dried salt._

 

“ _No, they can’t. Cranes are just like everything else.”_

 

_He hummed, nudging the bird toward Carmilla across the table with his index finger._

 

“ _Well, this is a crane isn’t it?”_

 

_Carmilla shrugged._

 

“ _And it lives, does it not?”_

 

_Carmilla rolled her eyes, flicking the crane’s wing and making it topple on it’s side._

 

“ _It’s just a piece of paper.”_

 

 _He_ _nodded_ _at that, slowly rising to his feet. He reached for his cane; new to him, unfamiliar and unpracticed. Carmilla noticed how his hand didn’t sit right on the handle, how it looked uncomfortable and uneasy._

 

“ _Shall we return to the party?” He offered_ _after a moment of_ _silence._

 

_Carmilla looked away from him, not ready to be done pouting._

 

 _She was eleven and_ _exhausted and had been scolded in front of dozens._

 

_He seemed to sense she wasn’t leaving her hiding spot anytime soon._

 

“ _Well, I’ll leave the princess to her musings, then.”_

 

_He made his way to the door, the muted sounds of laughter echoing in the hall just outside. He turned to look back at Carmilla, at her skulking on the couch. She stared back at him, the crane twirling between her fingers._

 

“ _Thousands of years?”_

 

_He gave a small smile, rare for his stern face._

 

“ _So they say.”_

 

“What do you say?”

 

“Carmilla, are you even listening to me?”

 

Carmilla’s head snapped to her right, Lola’s frantic face blossoming into focus.

 

“I’m...I’m sorry, what did you say?”

 

Lola sighed, rubbing her fingers against her temple.

 

“We have several statements prepared for such an occasion as this and we need to know which one you’d prefer us to release. Your mother would like to have it to the press before we touch down in London. I prefer the first, it’s purposely vague, but what do you say? Do you have a preference, one you’d like?”

 

Carmilla looked down at the memos in front of her, six different versions spread across a small table. Outside, the clouds rushed by as she was jetted back to London, back to the Prime Minister.

 

The words swam in front of her vision, all of them bleeding together and not making any sense.

 

He was in a coma.

 

Prime Minister Vordenburg was somewhere below, laying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

 

And she was in the sky, flying.

 

“ _Cranes can live to be thousands of years old, they say.”_

 

Carmilla shook her head, gathering up the papers and shoving them into Lola’s hands.

 

“Whichever you think is best. I trust your judgment on this. Just...please, can I...I just need the flight, Lola. Please.”

 

Carmilla could feel her voice cracking, hear the fissures that lit up her words.

 

Lola waited a moment, then another, before she silently took the statements and left Carmilla be, disappearing to some other part of the plane. Carmilla pressed her forehead to the window, the plexiglass cool against her rapidly warming face.

 

She felt her chest tighten, the familiar sensation of splintering running up her sternum; so like before, so like when Lola had woken her to tell her about her father.

 

Carmilla closed her eyes, taking slow, even breaths.

 

She thought of Laura.

 

Laura, who she had left in the villa.

 

Laura, who she had rushed I love yous to before leaving.

 

Laura, who was alone in an airport in a city she had never been to before because Carmilla had to leave her.

 

Was she angry?

 

Afraid?

 

Bitter?

 

Was this too much?

 

Was Carmilla too much?

 

She always was, always had been, always would be.

 

_Too much._

 

She thought of the paper crane.

 

_Cranes are just like everything else._

 

Carmilla leaned forward, her head throbbing as she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.

 

 _Queens do not weep_ , she reminded herself.

 

She took a shuddering breath, one that felt like static and stinging and rust, and let herself count to five.

 

One.

 

Laura laughing in bed, white sheets messily rumpled around her.

 

Two.

 

A kiss stolen before Carmilla left for the plane, fast and hard and the smallest bit desperate.

 

Three.

 

A paper crane still by her bedside, faded and yellowed with age.

 

Four.

 

Vordenburg teaching her to calm herself, to count to five, to steady herself, his eyes old and patient as they had always been.

 

Five.

 

Carmilla shook the images from her mind, letting them fall away like leaves. She could nearly feel them loose from her, the emotions dropping with them into nothing.

 

She let the numbness engulf her, strengthen her.

 

 _Queens do not weep,_ her mother’s voice hissed.

 

She sat up, her back ramrod straight and her shoulders square.

 

“Lola,” She called, her hand reaching up to slide the window cover down.

 

“Bring me the releases. I’ll read them now.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Laura folded the edge of her boarding pass, methodically bending and smoothing the corner until was soft with use. It flipped between her fingers rhythmically, giving her senses something to focus on.

 

Everything else seemed too much, too loud, and she needed the distraction.

 

Needed the folding.

 

The back and forth.

 

She could handle that.

 

She needed it.

 

Otherwise...

 

Her hands couldn’t keep still.

 

Her body couldn’t keep still.

 

Her mind couldn’t keep still.

 

All she could do was focus on the flimsy paper in her hand, back and forth, back and forth, and try to ignore the rattling of her mind.

 

But how could she?

 

How _could_ she?

 

Carmilla was back in London.

 

Back and forth.

 

The Prime Minister was on life support.

 

Back and forth.

 

And she was alone in Nice.

 

Back and forth.

 

It was a blur.

 

Lola waking Laura from her sleep, nearly pulling her out of bed and away from Carmilla.

 

Her whispers harsh and fast and frantic, urging Laura to pack and dress and not ask questions.

 

Carmilla’s voice carrying from the bedroom to the closet, asking where Laura was, if Laura was okay, what was going on.

 

Then the shattering realization of Prime Minister Vordenburg; his fall and his coma and the silence that had followed.

 

Carmilla turning from heartbroken to angry to stone; methodically moving and shifting back into the stoic, ridged woman she had met all those months ago.

 

Laura watching in horror as Carmilla rebuilt herself, stripped her limbs of their looseness and wrenched them tight again.

 

It had made her ache.

 

The ticket slipped between Laura’s fingers.

 

Back and forth.

 

A crackling voice boomed overhead, a call for Laura’s flight to board.

 

She’d flown into Nice on a private royal jet, holding the hand of the girl she loved.

 

She’d fly out on the cheapest, fastest airline Lola could find, half her things still strewn about the villa in Nice because she forgot to pack them.

 

Laura would return alone.

 

_You can’t be seen getting off the plane with her, you realize._

 

Lola had tried to explain, to comfort her in the face of reality.

 

_The paparazzi will be waiting for her._

 

Carmilla had held her hands, pressed warm kisses to her knuckles, tried to drown the oncoming panic in hasty hickies across Laura’s shoulders as they folded their clothes.

 

“Carm...”

 

Carmilla had shushed her, shaking her head.

 

“Please don’t. Please just...”

 

There had been a long pause, Carmilla’s eyes closed as she squared her shoulders; becoming the Queen she had to be, Laura suspected.

 

Steeling away the open woman she had let herself become.

 

“I love you.” Carmilla said, eyes opening and finding Laura’s.

 

Laura could feel her chest relax at the memory, at the image of Carmilla’s dark eyes so clear and defiant.

 

Like she’d been asking someone to challenge her.

 

Like she dared someone to defy her words.

 

“I love you.” She’d whispered, hands slipping up Laura’s back and pulling her in, pressing their bodies together like folds.

 

Back and forth.

 

Back and forth.

 

Back and forth.

 

The corner of the boarding pass feathered away, breaking clean off without any resistance. The edge between the pieces was smooth, soft and weathered, perfectly separated.

 

Two distinct halves.

 

Almost like they never had touched.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“Enjoy your French imprisonment, ‘Milla?”

 

Carmilla turned from her suitcase, eyes falling on William leaning against her doorway. He was wearing a too starched button down, a sharp silk tie, and professionally pressed pants; he was done up for show just like she had been.

 

“William. I see Windsor agrees with you.”

 

Carmilla turned back to her luggage, carefully pulling the folded clothes from their neat packing.

 

William huffed behind her, wandering into the room to flop onto her bed. He jostled her stack of clothes, sending them tipping over and falling onto the carpet.

 

“Reckon he’ll make it?” He asked, flipping the end of his tie absently.

 

Carmilla’s shoulders tensed at the question, her heart leaping into her throat.

 

“He’s a tough old bugger, surely he won’t die.” William continued, completely oblivious to Carmilla’s tension.

 

She could feel her jaw clenching, her teeth aching under the pressure. She calmly crouched to gather her knocked over clothes, and hummed in response, not trusting her words to be anything less than biting.

 

William never had tact. That was part of his charm. He was brash and loud and didn’t care what others thought of him. Carmilla had been jealous of it, once; had envied that brazen part of him that could brush off the expectation and the responsibility.

 

But she’d seen William after the funeral, when she had sent him away to his lavish prison of Windsor.

 

She’d felt the hurt in his eyes when he spoke of their father, how he looked at Carmilla like she was somehow to blame; as if the crown that would soon be hers somehow made her complicit in his death, somehow made her want it.

 

Carmilla’s eyes flicked to the paper crane on her bedside table, William’s feet dangling off the mattress near it.

 

“He’ll make it.” She finally offered, seeing as William wasn’t going to leave without a response. “He has to.”

 

Carmilla systematically began refolding the clothes that had fallen to the floor, ignoring the shuffling she could just barely see out of the corner of her eye. When it stopped, Carmilla glanced over to see William sitting in the center of her bed, legs tucked under himself as though he was six years old.

 

And, for a moment, he looked it.

 

His face was empty of the usual smirk, the glint of trouble that typically rested in his eyes was missing. In one instant, he was as young and as afraid as Carmilla felt deep in her bones.

 

“He will, yeah? I mean, he’s a stuffy old windbag, but he’s kind of...I don’t know...he’s...” William’s voice shook, nervous and desperate like a child seeking comfort.

 

He needed to be comforted, Carmilla realized; reassured. He needed to be told everything was going to be fine, that everything would be alright.

 

He needed _someone_.

 

And he came to _her_.

 

‘ _Milla with a crown on her head and the world at her feet._

 

That was her role now; not only to William, but to everyone.

 

To her people.

 

She was not allowed to feel, to fall apart, to ache.

 

To fear and worry and break apart over the looming loss.

 

It had been that for longer than she care to admit, true, yet now, faced with her brother looking so lost and worried, Carmilla felt the true weight of it settle onto her ribs.

 

She was not Carmilla any longer.

 

She was the Queen of England.

 

Forevermore.

 

And her emotions held no place here.

 

Not anymore.

 

They never did.

 

Carmilla’s grip on the shirt in her hands tightened. She let herself have a breath, one long and steadying breath where she could feel her youth fray and feather to pieces. She wished she could have mourned it, thought longingly about how young she truly was, about how unfair her circumstance could be, about how Laura was getting a shell of a girl that might have been.

 

But instead she leaned over to pat William on the knee. She gave it a gentle shake, making him look up and meet her gaze with his own.

 

Carmilla put on a small smile, soft and easy and like she’d been built to do it.

 

“He will be fine, William. I promise. Now, go make some mischief to distract the public. You’re still good at that, aren’t you?”

 

Her words were so smooth, silk and honey and melting around them as if she meant them.

 

Each syllable felt like lead in Carmilla’s mouth but she smiled through them.

 

William let out a bark of a laugh, his face falling into the caddish grin it normally held. He jumped off the bed, landing with a thump and a spin before throwing out his arms like a showman.

 

“If my Queen commands it.” He said, bowing deeply.

 

Carmilla shook her head at his playfulness, her chest trying to kick up a laugh. She managed an amused sigh as he headed out the door.

 

“Nothing too ostentatious, William.” She called after him, his laughter ringing back at her from down the hall in response.

 

The gentle thumps of his stride faded, leaving Carmilla alone again. She couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting to the one thing she wished not to look at, the one physical manifestation of the ache in chest, the needles in her mouth.

 

The crane on her bedside table sat quietly, still and heavy and yet somehow thunderously loud.

 

Carmilla leaned forward, her hands landing on her bed as her chest tightened. Her breath shortened, sharp and wicked inside her lungs. She tried to pull it in, push it out, but the air stayed splintering inside her.

 

She closed her eyes, trying to keep them from watering.

 

She wanted to collapse.

 

She wanted to scream.

 

_How does it not drive you mad, being trapped all the time?_

 

Laura’s words cut through her mind, hitting every nerve that seemed both overexposed and under cared for.

 

Mad.

 

Trapped.

 

_You are just like him._

 

Her mother’s words, about her father, about herself, about how she was so much not her own.

 

Trapped.

 

Carmilla could feel her hands going numb, she wanted to be sick.

 

The crane was still on the bedside table, calm and quiet and as neatly folded as the day she got it.

 

She could still see his steady hands as he folded it, the gentle way he tucked the paper in and creased it. His leg was ruined from a car crash, his body old even by the first time she had met him, but his hands had always been steady.

 

Constant.

 

Vordenburg had been constant.

 

All her life.

 

He’d been there.

 

As a member of Parliament, then Prime Minister.

 

The longest sitting Prime Minister in history.

 

And he was hers.

 

_You are so much like him._

 

Vordenburg’s voice was so clear to her; the same words as her mother’s but with such different meaning.

 

Yet how much of her father was _his_ own, how much had been formed by those around him, by Vordenburg himself?

 

Was Carmilla like her father or was she like Vordenburg?

 

She choked out a sob, dry and ragged and painful as splinters.

 

“Carmilla!”

 

Lola’s hand was on her back, rubbing up and down. The other was against her arm, trying to pull her up from her slumped position on the bed.

 

“Carmilla, are you alright?”

 

Carmilla nodded, her breath tight but returning.

 

“I’m...” She choked against the words but brushed Lola’s hands away from her. “I just need a shower. From the plane. I...just give me twenty minutes.”

 

Carmilla didn’t look back as she walked toward the bathroom, her heart thundering in her ears; she walked forward and let her shattered self stay in the room behind her.

 

She was Queen.

 

The time for crying was over.

 

The time for crying had never been there at all.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Her apartment smelled stale, the air having been still for too long.

 

Even so, Laura felt her body relax as she walked into the familiar space.

 

Kirsch had lugged her bag upstairs before retreating back to the pub.

 

“We’ve got you all covered boss, just relax today.” He’d said, saluting her as he’d waltzed backward out the door.

 

Laura appreciated how much he had taken on while she’d been away, how he’d handled the scheduling and the deliveries and managed the bar with absolutely no incident.

 

It also made her feel guilty.

 

Guilty for leaving.

 

Guilty for lying.

 

Guilty for having almost nothing to pay him.

 

Guilty for not caring about the pub when all she wanted was Carmilla.

 

Carmilla.

 

 _Queen_ Carmilla.

 

In Nice, she’d almost forgotten.

 

Almost.

 

They had felt so far away, so separate from this place and her title. It had almost been like they were just two girls in love, responsible for nothing but each other.

 

Almost.

 

Almost, almost, almost.

 

Laura sighed, trudging into her bedroom. She stripped out of her clothes, which still smelled like the recycled airplane air, and crawled into her bed.

 

Her sheets were cold, stiff from no use. Still, the well-worn blankets were comforting and Laura felt her body loosen as she curled into her pillow.

 

She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, rest, turn off.

 

She had been so keyed up since she woke that her hands were trembling.

 

She wanted someone to hold them.

 

Carmilla.

 

She wanted Carmilla.

 

The thrumming ache in her chest pulsed deep and it made Laura suck in a ragged breath in surprise. She tried to slow her breathing, not panic, but couldn't seem to make herself stop. She was so thrown. One minute she had been wrapped around the girl she loved and now she was alone in her cold bed. 

 

Laura shook her head at herself. She was better than this, stronger than this. It had only been hours. She would not fall to pieces because she hadn't seen Carmilla for a few hours.

 

How could she survive if that's what was going to happen?

 

_To love her means you share her with the world._

 

Lola's words rang in her ears and suddenly Laura had leaped out of bed to find her phone – still in the pocket of her discarded jeans – and had it pressed to her ear. It was ringing, methodical and slow, and then there was a voice; familiar and confused and just the littlest bit grateful.

 

“Laura?”

 

“Carm,” She breathed, her chest unlocking. “I’m...I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but I...I just...”

 

There was shuffling on the other end, distant voices and then silence. Laura could feel her throat closing, the words trying to force themselves out.

 

_I miss you._

 

_I love you._

 

_I’m scared I’ll never get to see you again._

 

“Laura.”

 

Her voice was strained, almost like she was trying not to cry. Laura knew that couldn’t be true, Carmilla so rarely broke into emotion, let alone tears. But it made Laura clutch the phone closer to her, cradle it against her jaw.

 

“Hey.” She managed, wishing she could think of anything better to say.

 

“It’s so good to hear your voice.” Carmilla’s words sounded tired, heavy, yet they made Laura feel like she’d swallowed the sun.

 

“Miss me already?” Laura tried, her voice aiming for teasing but not quite reaching it.

 

Carmilla hummed low into the phone.

 

“You have no idea.”

 

Laura laughed softly at that, moving to tuck herself back into bed with the phone pressed to her ear.

 

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

 

“You miss me too?” Carmilla asked, voice low and fragile.

 

Laura wanted to reach through the phone and still Carmilla’s hands, which she knew were fidgeting.

 

“Like someone cut a hole in me.”

 

The words felt heavy between them and Laura could just make out Carmilla’s small intake of breath.

 

“You...you know I didn’t want to leave you, right? You know that?”

 

Carmilla’s words were whispered, like they were liable to break if spoken to loudly.

 

Laura closed her eyes, imagining that Carmilla was just a breath away, laying next to her in her bed.

 

“You had to, I know. The Prime Minister…”

 

Carmilla sighed and Laura could almost see her rubbing her hand down her face.

 

“I haven’t seen him yet. I don’t know if I-”

 

There was a sudden commotion on the other side of the phone, more voices, Carmilla’s angry whispers turning into near shouting. Laura couldn’t make out what was happening, who was there, what was being said but there was shuffling and then Carmilla barking at Lola to find her a coat.

 

“I have to go.”

 

“Carm, what-”

 

“I have to _go_. I’m sorry.”

 

Then the phone was dead.

 

Laura felt like her skin was too tight on her body, the memory of Carmilla’s voice still hot around her.

 

She was so curt at the end, angry.

 

_Not at you._

 

_Not at you._

 

_She wasn’t angry at you._

 

Laura knew that, knew she wasn’t the one responsible for whatever stress Carmilla was feeling.

 

But as she let the phone drop onto the mattress next to her, Laura wondered if she would ever find out what was.

 

_To love her means you share her with the world._

 

_You know that, don’t you?_

 

Laura closed her eyes as the words filled her head, pretending the rushed phone call wasn't a taste of things to come.

 

 

 

-

 

 

Carmilla stood outside Vordenburg’s hospital room, heart at her feet but shoulders square.

 

“Don’t get weepy in there, ‘Milla, there will be photographers outside when we leave.” Her mother hissed behind her, the latest in a long barrage of advice on how best to see the Prime Minister.

 

“We won’t stay long, just enough to show concern but not enough to imply his condition is...what it is. The less the public knows, the better, and as far as they are concerned he is laid up with the flu. Do not spend longer than necessary in the room; after your brother and I visit him, you’ll get a moment alone but be quick, ‘Milla. Do not turn this into some dramatic issue – we can’t always send you abroad when you cause a scene, you know.”

 

Carmilla let her talk.

 

It was better than fighting.

 

And Carmilla was unsure if she had the energy to combat her.

 

Her insides felt like they were shaking, trembling and fragile and one breath away from shattering.

 

She longed for Laura, wished she had been there to hold her hand.

 

_I have never loved anyone the way I love you._

 

Instead of her mother’s vitriol, she thought of Laura’s words; her soft, sure words that had made her feel like herself, made her feel invincible.

 

The door to Vordenburg loomed in front of her, her mother and brother having just slipped inside.

 

It all smelled sterile and damp and overly sanitized.

 

Carmilla could hear them whispering inside, the words muffled and low.

 

“Are you alright, dear?”

 

Lola’s warm hand came to rest on Carmilla’s shoulder and it was only then she realized she was actually trembling.

 

“Do you know anything about cranes?”

 

Carmilla’s voice sounded far away, not her own, yet the words came anyway.

 

Lola’s hand slipped from Carmilla’s shoulder and she could see out of the corner of her eye Lola’s red curls bouncing as she shook her head. Then, her voice came gentle, careful.

 

“I’m afraid I don’t. What do you know about cranes?”

 

Carmilla wanted to scream.

 

Instead she watched as the door opened, her mother slipping out with William at her heels.

 

Carmilla turned her head to Lola, giving her a small, sad smile.

 

“They’re just like everything else.”

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

When Carmilla returned from the hospital, she found the paper crane at her bedside.

 

Right where she had left it.

 

Right where it had always been.

 

_Cranes can live to be thousands of years old, they say._

 

She threw it in the trash, her hands numb as the bird fell lifeless into the rubbish.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Laura flopped onto her couch, her legs aching.

 

She’d forgotten what the weekends could be like.

 

Kirsch had told her business had picked up, which the numbers in the ledger had shown, but she didn’t realize how much work that meant. She’d forgotten, well and truly forgotten, what steady customers felt like.

 

She wished that the pick up in business felt like more.

 

Instead, she wished it was slow again; back to the dragging days and nights when she could sneak away early.

 

Laura knew she needed the money, she could barely bring herself to look at the pile of bills neatly stacked on her kitchen table, but she also felt like something was missing.

 

Like someone was missing.

 

The pub had always been Laura’s special place, a spot that was decidedly her own. She had decorated it how she wanted, kept stocked the drinks she liked most, employed who she deemed worthy.

 

It was her own kingdom.

 

Small.

 

And dingy.

 

But her own nonetheless.

 

Yet now there was this presence that seemed to linger in the walls.

 

Carmilla.

 

Every memory Laura had with her, all the moments they had shared, had somehow stitched themselves into the very fabric of the bar itself.

 

And now that they were back, moving in their separate lives, Laura realized just how much Carmilla had woven into her real life; it hadn’t just been a French getaway fantasy with the Queen of England.

 

Carmilla was real.

 

She loved her.

 

That love seemed to fill up every room Laura walked in.

 

And the pub…

 

She loved the pub. She loved her work and the people and how it made her exhausted at the end of the day.

 

Her own kingdom.

 

Laura clicked on the television, the news blaring loud and bright.

 

A video of Carmilla leaving a hospital was splashed across the screen.

 

The Prime Minister.

 

She must have gone to see him.

 

Carmilla's kingdom was larger than Laura's, after all. 

 

Laura reached for her phone, clicking on Carmilla’s name. She hesitated over the call button, her eyes flitting to the clock.

 

It was late. She could have already been asleep. And she hadn’t called Laura after the hospital, hadn’t even texted, so maybe she didn’t want to be bothered. Was Laura bothering her, if she called? Was she supposed to wait for Carmilla to call her? She’d sounded relieved when she’d called before but then hung up so quickly.

 

_To love her means you share her with the world._

 

_You know that, don’t you?_

 

The thoughts smashed around in Laura’s head, her thumb hovering over Carmilla’s phone number. She ignored the needling worry, letting her other thoughts get louder.

 

_Call her._

 

_Call her._

 

_Just call her._

 

Laura took a breath, readying herself.

 

A quiet knock came from the door.

 

Laura’s heart leaped into her throat, her phone dropping to the couch. She sped to the door, slamming into it as she slid across the hardwood in her socks, and wrenched it open.

 

“Carm-” Laura’s words caught in her throat.

 

Standing in her doorway was Lola Perry.

 

“Laura, I’m so sorry to disturb but your pub was unlocked. Rather unsafe if you ask me, you really should have a working lock if you want a reputable establishment, and honestly anyone could just wander in here and come up your stairs. This is quite concerning and I’d appreciate it-”

 

“Um, Lola?” Laura gently interrupted, opening the door wider. “Would you like to come in?”

 

Lola huffed, shaking her head.

 

“Thank you, but no. I’m here to ask a bit of a favor.”

 

Laura leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, confusion etched across her face.

 

“For Carmilla.”

 

Laura’s heart kicked up in her chest and from Lola’s relieved expression, Laura was almost certain she could hear it.

 

 

 

-

 

 

Carmilla felt like her teeth were being pulled, her jaw clenched so hard that she could feel a headache blossoming in her temples.

 

“Isn’t this a little quick, mother?” She managed through her grit teeth.

 

Her mother hummed, not looking up from her papers.

 

“He is unable to perform his position, naming an acting Prime Minister should have been done sooner. We gave the day out of politeness and to keep the public from assuming him dead.”

 

“He might as well be.” Carmilla murmured.

 

Her mother’s eyes snapped up at that, her gaze cutting.

 

“Hold your tongue, ‘Milla. You show too much emotion. You always have.”

 

_Too much._

 

_Too much._

 

_Always too much._

 

Carmilla bit her cheek to stay the scream that wanted to come out.

 

“You’ll meet with the acting Prime Minister tomorrow morning. I suggest you reign yourself in. France, it seems, did not agree with you.”

 

She waved her hand as though Carmilla was a fly buzzing around her face.

 

“Off you go.”

 

Carmilla felt like fists were beating against her lungs, pressing against her ribs to let her yell.

 

She wanted to scream; scream and cry and pull her mother from behind _her_ desk.

 

Carmilla was the Queen.

 

She was the _Queen_.

 

And yet she felt like the same helpless little girl who had cried after breaking her pinky.

 

Only this time there was no pain, nothing for her rage and powerlessness to focus on.

 

There was only the angry simmering of her own pulse.

 

“Goodnight, mother.” Carmilla offered, her hands shaking behind her back.

 

She left the office in a haze of emotion.

 

Her head was throbbing, her heart pounding in her chest, and all she wanted to do was cry.

 

Carmilla wanted to beat her hands bloody, scream until her throat went raw, find someone who she could hold responsible for Vordenburg and her father and every bad thing that had ever happened to her.

 

But she couldn’t.

 

There was no one to blame.

 

And she was alone.

 

She missed Laura.

 

Laura would know what to do, what to say, would be able to cut through the fog that was suffocating her.

 

Carmilla could feel her throat closing, the threat of sobs at her heels, as she pushed her bedroom door open.

 

Then, all at once, Carmilla couldn’t breathe.

 

Laura.

 

Laura was there, pacing back and forth across her bedroom, hair in a messy bun and bare feet poking out from her cotton pajama pants.

 

“How can...how are you here?”

 

Carmilla could feel her voice cracking, her bones seeming to creak with the weight of her own body as she took a heavy step forward.

 

Laura was here.

 

How could she be here?

 

She could not be here.

 

Someone would see her.

 

Someone would take her.

 

Her mother.

 

Her mother would find her and use her and twist them both up until they were nothing. She’d catch them and Laura would be barred from her, taken and watched and kept as far away as her mother could get her. Carmilla’s eyes watered at the thought, the panic rising in her chest.

 

“Lola. She...well, she snuck me in. I don’t know how exactly? There were some tunnels and a lot of guards but no one saw me. She, uh, she made sure of it. She said not to worry, that she made sure no one saw. And I don’t know if this is okay but she was so worried and she came to my pub and I just missed you so much that I-”

 

Carmilla shook her head, eyes pulsing with tears she didn’t realize she still had. In a few long strides, she had Laura’s face between her hands and her lips pressed against her own. A surprised yelp fell out of Laura’s mouth but Carmilla swallowed it, breathing Laura in and devouring as much as she could.

 

She was real.

 

She was there.

 

She was Carmilla’s.

 

Their kisses were desperate, messy; too much and not enough and Carmilla couldn’t stop her hands from fisting in Laura’s hair, from tugging on the golden strands.

 

_Mine._

 

_Mine._

 

_Mine._

 

Her brain couldn’t stop the refrain from repeating over and over.

 

“I don’t...I can’t believe...” She panted in between kisses, her lips dragging over Laura’s with each word.

 

Laura shushed her, shaking her head.

 

“I’m here.” She made Carmilla meet her gaze, her eyes fierce and dark and honest.

 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“They...you...” Carmilla wanted to warn her, send her away; keep her as far from this place as she could, as far from her mother as she could.

 

_It will destroy her._

 

_You will destroy her._

 

_Tread lightly._

 

The words were there, the warnings and alarms and signs that told her this was dangerous.

 

Laura being here was dangerous.

 

But Carmilla couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

“Lola he-helped you?” She found herself asking as Laura’s hands ran up and down her arms.

 

Laura nodded, a small smile playing on her lips.

 

“She didn’t want you to be alone, said something odd about it not being good for cranes.”

 

Carmilla felt the cracks splintering, her heart finally folding in.

 

_Cranes can live to be thousands of years old, they say._

 

The memory broke into a thousand pieces, each one of them pricking in her veins.

 

Laura saw her collapsing, felt it with her, and then they were on the edge of her bed; Carmilla sobbing, her breaths jagged and wretched things, each one more broken than the last.

 

There in her bedroom with the girl she loved holding her, Carmilla let herself shatter.

 

And for the first time in years, the Queen wept.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“I’ve never seen you cry before.”

 

Carmilla snuffed out a laugh, her arms tightening around Laura as the lay in bed.

 

“I make a point not to.”

 

Laura hummed, pressing her nose into Carmilla’s throat. She took a deep breath, let it sit in her lungs, tried to hold her in. She wondered if that was what Carmilla had been doing – holding everything in.

 

_To love her means you share her with the world._

 

_You know that, don’t you?_

 

“You can cry with me, you know. If you ever need to. I’m...well, we’re...”

 

Laura wanted to say she was Carmilla’s, she was hers to help bear the weight of the world with. But the words wouldn’t come. All her rambling throughout her life couldn’t somehow translate to offering everything of herself to the one woman she wanted to.

 

“I love you.” Carmilla breathed, her hands slipping up the back of Laura’s tank top to press against her skin. “I need you to know that.”

 

Laura pushed up on her forearms so she could look down at Carmilla.

 

“Why do you do that? Say it that way?”

 

Carmilla’s nose scrunched up, her dark eyebrows drawing together.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Laura brought her hand to press against Carmilla’s cheek; she could still feel the dried salt on her skin, feel how swollen her eyes were, as her thumb brushed along her face.

 

“You say it like its the last time you’ll get to tell me. Like you think I don’t believe you.”

 

Laura watched as Carmilla’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to speak, her face more open than Laura had ever seen it, and then Carmilla was surging up to kiss her.

 

It was slow, intense, and Laura struggled not to get lost in it.

 

“Carm...” She breathed as Carmilla flipped them over, pressing Laura down into the mattress.

 

“I’m yours.” Carmilla murmured beneath her ear. “I am yours and I want to tell you all these things in my head; all the voices that are constantly there, telling me who to be and how to act. But I’m learning. And I need you to know I’m trying. But the words all try to come out at once.” She sucked the skin of Laura’s neck, just long enough to make Laura arch up into her.

 

"It's why I say I love you the way I do. I am yours and I want to give all of myself to you. I'm just not good at it yet." 

 

Laura was embarrassed by the keening whine that slipped out of her, but Carmilla’s hands were exploring lower and the words falling around her felt like rain after a drought, silencing her growing fears and mending the worries taking root in her heart.

 

“Mine?” Laura managed to breath. 

 

Carmilla’s teeth nipped at Laura’s collarbone.

 

“Like you mean it.” She growled, her fingers slipping through Laura with a practiced ease.

 

“Mine.” Laura said, her nails digging into Carmilla’s shoulders, the word low and hot in her mouth.

 

Carmilla nodded against her throat, a soft kiss falling there before a finger slid inside her.

 

“Yours.”

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Carmilla tried not to let her mood show through too much.

 

It would seem inappropriate, considering what was going on with the Prime Minister and her face still across the tabloid papers.

 

But her chest was lighter than it had been in months.

 

Since her father’s death.

 

Waking up with Laura next to her, in her own room, had felt like a fantasy come to life.

 

For just a moment, she’d let herself throw the worry and fear and sadness out. Carmilla let her walls down, broke them with hammers and fists, and let Laura see her.

 

She had never felt closer to her.

 

Had never felt closer to anyone.

 

Even after all their time in Nice, there was something _more_ about Laura seeing her raw.

 

About Laura lifting her out of it.

 

Carmilla smiled to herself, shaking her head.

 

A knock came on her office door.

 

“Come in.” She said, her eyes scanning the end of a memo on a new measure Parliament was pushing for.

 

“Your majesty.”

 

Carmilla looked up.

 

Dressed to the teeth was a lithe woman who barely looked older than Carmilla, though her confidence was enough to make Carmilla certain of who she was. She’d heard of this woman, with her smooth talk and shrewd political savvy. She wondered how much of the rumors she’d heard were true. Looking at the powerhouse of a woman before her, Carmilla was beginning to think they hadn’t done her justice.

 

“Ms. Belmonde, a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

Matska scoffed, crossing her arms.

 

“Going to go the formal route, are we? I must admit I was looking forward to something a little more inspired from our wild Queen.”

 

Carmilla froze, the words sucking all the air from her lungs.

 

“I beg your pardon?”

 

Matska strode into the room fully, coming to lean against the side of Carmilla’s desk. She peered down at her like she was deciding if Carmilla was predator or prey.

 

“I don’t want to overstep-”

 

“Overstep?” Carmilla scoffed, her eyebrows rising to her hairline.

 

Matska didn’t seem phased.

 

“But you seem to be a woman in need of an ally. This place is suffocating, I felt breathless as soon as I walked in this room. I can’t imagine what’s happening in that poor head of yours, not after years here. But I’m what you would call a breath of fresh air. Do you see what I’m saying?”

 

Carmilla’s head was spinning.

 

She felt like she’d lost her footing, only she couldn’t even figure out where the ground was.

 

Who _was_ this woman?

 

Matska held up her hands, stepping away from the desk.

 

“I’ve overstepped, I can see that. But I think you need to realize the opportunity we have.”

 

Carmilla shook her head, her hands gripping the edge of the desk like a lifeline.

 

“Opportunity?” She managed.

 

Matska smiled, her teeth straight and white and perfect.

 

“Ma’am, you’re the youngest monarch we’ve had in over a century and I’m a black woman about to become the PM of Great Britain.”

 

Carmilla swallowed, her throat dry.

 

“We, uh, guess we will change the country, won't we?” She tried, her voice quiet.

 

Matska took a seat across the desk. She laughed, her smile growing wider.

 

“Your majesty, we are going to change _history_.”

 

Carmilla’s heart sped in her chest, her pulse kicking up.

 

Matska seemed not to notice. She leaned forward and picked up the next memo, her eyes scanning it quickly before tossing it away.

 

“Now, would it be a good time to ask about your ex’s upcoming visit or would you prefer we have another meeting scheduled?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lotsa callbacks, lotsa stuff bubblin' for ole carmilla. hope all the throwbacks to previous chapters worked. if not, MY BAD BABES, but i hope the emotion still came through. i'm honestly not sure about this one but we hit some plot points - mattie! of course she's a sass ball! - so i hope it all shook out okay. also i know a shit ton about cranes now, in case anyone has any questions. 
> 
> i am so sorry it takes so long for me to update. and i do really, REALLY, fucking appreciate you guys coming back or yelling at me on tumblr or just kudos-ing or clicking on this. i don't mean to suck so much, i'm just shit at this. 
> 
> may you all get some perfectly crispy french fries.


	13. Unseen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprisebitch.gif
> 
> we are picking up right where we left off, so if you need a refresher i'd recommend reading the last chapter (or at least the last scene of the last chapter) as a bit of warm up before this.
> 
> ONWARD.

 

 

 

“My...my ex?”

 

Carmilla could feel the muscles in her arms tighten up, her fingers curling into her palms on instinct. Matska Belmonde seemed disinterested in her question for clarification, breezing past it as if she hadn’t spoken at all. It made Carmilla’s mouth run dry, the back of her neck going clammy and warm. 

 

“Do you think you’re likable, your majesty?”

 

Carmilla’s stomach knotted, confusion clouding her head like a hangover as Matska's smooth words hit her.

 

“Likable?”

 

Matska hummed, standing and gliding across the room to poke around a bookshelf in the far corner. She plucked a weathered copy of some long ago treatise and flicked through the pages idly.

 

“I didn’t mumble, ma’am. If you’d be so kind as to answer the question, it would be helpful in speeding this meeting along.”

 

She didn’t look up from the book she was skimming, her lithe fingers flipping the pages like a spider spinning web.

 

Carmilla shook her head, feeling slapped.

 

“I...” She tried to think of anything, something, words that wouldn't make her sound like a child being cornered, but she was thrown. Words tumbled out of her mouth.

 

“I would not use the term to describe myself, no.”

 

Matska snapped the book shut, the sound loud and sudden and causing Carmilla jump in her seat.

 

“Awareness. That’s excellent.”

 

She rounded back toward Carmilla’s desk, stalking like a predator who had cornered easy prey. Carmilla had never felt so exposed and she was too startled to defend against it. If she hadn't been so horrified by the interaction, Carmilla would have been impressed.

 

Matska planted her hands on her hips, tilting her head to the side as she stared Carmilla down. 

 

“You have been likable exactly three times. Do you know what they are?”

 

She raised an eyebrow as she spoke, nonplussed and unaffected as if she hadn’t just asked Carmilla to decide which seconds of her life were worth looking at.

 

“I-”

 

“Because  _I_ do,” she cut in, almost as though Carmilla had never spoken.

 

She lifted her well manicured left hand, nails long and precise, and held up a finger.

 

“One: the dedication of your father’s memorial in Hyde Park.”

 

Carmilla grit her teeth, trying to keep her face unreadable, trying to not recall the swell of pride she had felt that day.

 

“Two: when the paparazzi caught you wandering the streets, covered in hickeys.”

 

Carmilla rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the exaggeration.

 

“One hickey, I had one-”

 

“And three,” Matska pulled a small newspaper clipping from her shirt pocket and slid it smoothly across the top of the desk. She pressed it forward until it was perfectly in front of Carmilla, unavoidable.

 

A black and white photo stared up at her, the face familiar yet changed and altogether unwelcome.

 

“When you were with  _that_ girl.”

 

Carmilla swallowed, her eyes cutting across the features she had been avoiding for nearly five years.

 

“You’ve been likable exactly  _three_  times, and now one of them is about to walk into England. I have a few ideas about how to handle that, should you wish to improve to four.”

 

Carmilla looked up at Matska, her head aching, and realized quietly that this was a formality.

 

Asking if Carmilla wanted to hear her opinions, treating her like she held the cards for her own rule, curious for her ideas about the incoming visit from the one person she wished to avoid; Carmilla’s opinion, she realized, was inconsequential.

 

She had no interest in Matska’s plans, her strategy, her manipulations.

 

But they both knew the same thing, deep down.

 

Her Prime Minister was ready to use her.

 

And Carmilla didn’t have a choice.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

Laura burst through the door to the kitchen, slamming the tray she was carrying down on the closest counter. Wilson jumped at the sound, hot frying oil splashing up and burning his knuckles.

 

“Ouch, boss, what gives?” He croaked, shaking out his hand as he frantically tried to wipe the scalding grease away.

 

Laura glared at him.

 

“These chips are underdone,  _again_  Wilson. That’s the fourth plate today. If you can’t figure out how to use the damn fryer, I will find someone who can. Got it?”

 

Laura’s voice was sharp, edged and annoyed and at the end of her patience.

 

She knew she didn’t sound like herself at all.

 

“Okay, boss, I got it, I got it. It won’t happen again.”

 

Laura glared at him hard, her eyes flicking between his face and his hand. Then, like a balloon deflating, the tension in her shoulders fell, her face falling, and she leaned forward to slump down face first onto the counter.

 

“Oh, Wilson, I’m sorry for yelling.”

 

Wilson dropped the next batch of chips into the oil before walking over to Laura, who’s face was buried in her arms. She let out an uncomfortable groan.

 

“You okay?” He asked, daring to poke at her elbow.

 

Laura nodded, slowing bringing herself back upright.

 

“Fine, fine. I’m...”

 

“Fine?”

 

Laura laughed, shaking her head.

 

“I’m...I’m a little out of it.”

 

Wilson rocked back and forth on his heels.

 

“You’ve been out of it since you had that family emergency. Everything is okay though, right?”

 

Laura looked down at her hands, at her fingers gripping the cool metal counter. Her nails were white from the pressure of her grip and she had to consciously loosen each finger as she glanced back up at Wilson.

 

“Everything is fine,” she offered, voice tight and smile tighter.

 

Wilson seemed skeptical, his head tilted in a way that Laura knew meant he wanted to press further, to dig and see what exactly she was hiding, but then his face cleared and he smiled.

 

“If you say so.”

 

He was then back at the fryer as if Laura hadn’t just yelled at him without cause.

 

Laura sighed, rubbing a hand down her face as she trudged back out into the bar. She slid past Mel, who was busy flirting with a regular, and began collecting empty glasses to take in the back for washing.

 

“ _And coming up, are sparks still flying between royal houses? More about Princess Eltja’s upcoming visit to our new Queen after the break.”_

 

Laura grit her teeth, eyes flitting up to the old TV perched in the corner of the room.

 

Carmilla’s face was plastered across the screen, laughing and beautiful and it made Laura’s chest ache. Next to her in the silent clip was a refined blonde woman, her hand extending out and finding Carmilla’s, the pair whispering to each other as they walked.

 

It was an old clip, one from the years before Laura knew Carmilla, from when she had been young and far away and in love with someone else.

 

 _Mine,_  she thought childishly.

 

Laura’s chest burned.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

Carmilla sat in the dark, knees tucked up to her chest, arms encircling them.

 

She felt young.

 

Childish.

 

Confused.

 

In the quiet of her bed, swamped by the layers of blankets and pillows around her, Carmilla stared into space, unblinking.

 

The air was still, the hour too early to be called late but not bright enough to be considered morning, and she was at a loss for sleep. She had been all night.

 

Since Laura left.

 

Laura had to, Carmilla knew that. The palace was the last place she should have been, the most dangerous place, but the bed felt too large, too empty, and her body had been filled with discomfort since she’d returned to her rooms to find Laura gone.

 

“We had to get her away when we could,” Lola had said, eyes apologetic.

 

Carmilla had waved her off, flippant and dismissive as if it hadn’t bothered her at all.

 

In reality, Carmilla’s stomach had knotted so quickly that she nearly got sick. The pit that Matska Belmonde had planted in her had grown exponentially without Laura to soften it and it was then Carmilla realized just how deep she truly was.

 

She had refrained from calling, they had seen each other hours ago and Carmilla was trying to hold on to some modicum of pride. But Carmilla ached to hear Laura’s voice, to tell her what had happened, to know what she thought about Matska and the palace and find out exactly how she’d been spirited in and out of Buckingham.

 

Instead, she sat quiet in her bed, a shirt of Laura’s loosely covering her body, and stared into the darkness.

 

_You view your crown as a burden. Anyone with eyes can see that. You’re missing a very important view on the matter, ma’am._

 

_You may be a puppet but puppets are only as useful as their masters._

 

_And you get to decide who is pulling the strings._

 

Matska’s words from earlier floated through her head, loud and rough and brazen.

 

Carmilla wondered who was pulling the strings on her now, alone in her room.

 

She didn’t  _want_  strings.

 

She wanted to be in control of herself.

 

But from her point of view, she was tangled, wrapped in a web of threads that she couldn’t unwind.

 

There was her mother and Matska and her father’s legacy, her brother who needed her and Eltja who loomed just beyond the morning, there was Lola, and Vordenburg, and the entire world watching her every move.

 

And there was Laura.

 

Laura somewhere far from her yet the only one she wanted to be near in the messy, ensnared strings that pulled at her.

 

Carmilla ran a hand down her face, shaking her head and moving to lay back under the covers. She found the pillow Laura had slept on the night before, her perfume still clinging to the case, and held it tight against her chest.

 

_You get to decide who is pulling the strings._

 

Carmilla squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the words. She pressed her face into Laura’s pillow, let the familiar smell loosen the knot in her chest. She clung to it throughout the night, counting her breaths, and though she didn’t sleep, Carmilla took comfort in the fact that alone in the darkness, no one was pulling the strings, save her.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

“You need to get laid.”

 

Laura nearly dropped the glass she was drying, her head snapping up to glare at Mel.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She managed, tucking the pint under the bar.

 

Mel shrugged, popping the caps off of a handful of beers before sliding them down the bar to a group of university students.

 

“You’ve been off. I’m just saying, I think you’d be a little more like your old self if you weren’t wound so tight. Sex fixes that.”

 

Laura’s ears burned.

 

“Stop saying sex, there are patrons here.”

 

Mel rolled her eyes before nodding her head toward the far end of the bar.

 

“I mean, check out that one over there. She’s been eyeing you all night and she’s just your type. Take her upstairs after close and take care of things. Seriously, Hollis. For all our sake's.”

 

Laura’s mouth hung open, startled.

 

Was she really acting _that_ different?

 

Sure, she’d been snapping more recently; at Wilson, at Mel, at herself.

 

And okay, maybe she had been a _little_ absent lately, what with the running-off-to-France thing.

 

But was she so bad at hiding it?

 

Laura looked over at the girl Mel had gestured to; she was tall, lean with long red hair and wide eyes. She was pretty in an American way. Laura wondered if she would have taken Mel’s advice in the past.

 

Now, she couldn’t even fathom it.

 

Not when Carmilla had engulfed her, woven into her heart like arteries, and pulsed there.

 

All Laura could see in the woman was how  _not_ Carmilla she was.

 

Soft lines where Carmilla was sharp, easy smile where Carmilla’s was rarefied, light eyes where Carmilla’s were dark and endless and aching.

 

Laura looked away from the woman.

 

What would past Laura have done?

 

Was there any point in wondering? 

 

Laura shook her head, glaring down at the glass in her hand. 

 

Past Laura was gone, that much was clear. 

 

But who was she _now_? 

 

The question lingered around her, hot and stifling and too heavy to sift through. 

 

All the while, Laura could feel the eyes that weren't Carmilla's on her. 

 

The weight cold, different, and not _her_. 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

"This will keep focus away from my brother? From...from everything else? _Anything_ else?" 

 

"The public wants a show, your majesty. If you give them one, they will not search for more." 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

A knock came, soft and light.

 

Carmilla looked up from the memos strewn before her, her head foggy at the hundreds of notes Matska had given her in preparation of Eltja's impending arrival in the morning.

 

"Come in," she managed, her forefinger and thumb moving to press at the bridge of her nose.

 

The door creaked open slowly and William appeared in the room.

 

He was in a pair of worn sweatpants, a large hole gaping in the fabric around his right knee. His hair was mussed like he had just woken up and his eyes were still scrunched with sleep.

 

"You know what time it is?" He asked, voice scratchy from disuse.

 

Carmilla sighed, leaning back in her chair.

 

"Late, I'd imagine."

 

William huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

 

"More like early. Half past three."

 

William stood hovering near the doorway a moment, as though debating something in his head, before he took a step further into the room.

 

"You ready for tomorrow?"

 

Carmilla shook her head, confused.

 

"Is there something I should be readying against?"

 

William stared at her, face unreadable, until he broke out into a dull laugh.

 

It wasn't a kind sound. It was almost angry.

 

Carmilla was about to ask what he meant, why he seemed so annoyed, when he spoke again.

 

"You think no one can see you. You've always thought no one could see you, even when we were kids. You think all people see is the crown."

 

Carmilla opened her mouth to respond, to fight off the words he had lashed at her, but William wouldn't let her.

 

His voice was hard, as though he'd thought the words a hundred times over and now finally could steel himself enough to speak them.

 

"I saw you when you came back from the Netherlands. You thought I didn't, that I didn't care or couldn't or wouldn't, but I saw you. She _ruined_ you, 'Milla. And you let her. All because you thought no one could see it. But _I_ could. I remember. So I will ask you again. Are you ready for tomorrow?"

 

Carmilla felt slapped.

 

She wanted to get angry, to yell at William for bringing up a part of herself she was ashamed of, for needling at a time she would prefer to forget ever occurred, but there was something in his expression that gave her pause.

 

William took another small step forward, his face suddenly young and boyish and worried.

 

"I don't know what would happen if she hurt you again. I don't...I don't think you have it in you. And...and I know it's my place, we aren't..."

 

He took a breath, his shoulders squaring.

 

"I know I'm not the best brother. But you have to tell me if you're in trouble. Because damn it, 'Milla, I _see_ you. I've always seen you."

 

Carmilla's throat was tight; closed and thick like it was when she needed to cry but couldn't.

 

There was so much she wanted to say, so many thoughts clanging around loud and brassy in her mind, a hundred different branches she wanted to extend to her good-for-nothing partying brother.

 

Yet, even as those sharpened inside her mind, Matska's words flit through her head:

 

_The public wants a show, your majesty. If you give them one, they will not search for more._

 

Carmilla wanted to say so much to William; to promise him that she would protect him, that she would take the crown and the brunt of the public like she should have long ago, that she was doing this for him and their family and Laura.

 

How she _longed_ to tell him about Laura.

 

But, instead she let surface words crack around them.

 

"I'm fine, William, though your concern is appreciated."

 

As the words left her mouth, Carmilla could see them break something in her brother, shatter something she wasn't sure had been there until she had destroyed it.

 

William's face darkened, his features looking more like their mother than they ever had before.

 

Carmilla wanted to scream, shout to stop his anger, but she knew the damage had been done.

 

William shook his head.

 

"I hope you don't lie to whatever girl you're hiding the way you lie to me."

 

He was gone the moment his sentence was finished, leaving Carmilla alone and cold and breathless.

 

_The public wants a show._

_If you give them one, they will not search for more._

Carmilla rolled her shoulders back, her eyes itching to cry, her jaw aching from clenching her teeth.

 

She took a breath, swallowed the feeling, and picked up the next memo.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

"You own this place?"

 

Laura was checking off inventory when the voice came from behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the tall red-haired woman Mel had pointed out before leaning against the bar.

 

She smiled, looking back at her stock list.

 

"Yep, running on six years now."

 

"That's a long time for someone so young."

 

Mel shoved Laura as she passed behind her to grab the last empty glasses from the far end of the bar; it was just after close, the last few stragglers were filtering out. Mel was rounding up all the dirty dishes and every now and then Laura could hear Wilson singing to himself as he cleaned the kitchen.

 

The tall girl seemed to be the last one in the bar.

 

"It's a gift," Laura offered in way of conversation, her eyes still on the liquor bottles.

 

"Are you seeing someone?"

 

Laura whirled around at the sudden question, eyes wide and face reddening.

 

" _Excuse_ me?"

 

The red-haired girl held up her hands in surrender, lopsided grin on her face.

 

"No offence meant, I just didn't want to flirt with you anymore if you were seeing someone."

 

Mel swooped behind Laura, shoving her into the bar.

 

"She's not seeing anyone."

 

Laura glared back at her co-worker, deciding if she was allowed to fire her or not.

 

"So..."

 

The tall girl settled against the bar, leaning in.

 

"Can I keep flirting with you?"

 

Laura swallowed.

 

"I'm together. I mean, I _am_ seeing someone."

 

Mel laughed across the bar, disbelieving.

 

"Oh, yeah? Who? The Queen of England?"

 

Laura's face reddened.

 

"I...you've just never met her. I don't bring all my girlfriends here."

 

Mel eyed her as she placed a few half-full pints on a tray.

 

"You _live_ here."

 

Laura threw a rag at Mel's retreating back as she slid into the kitchen, leaving Laura and the red-haired girl alone.

 

"I'm sorry, I'm with someone. But thank you for the compliment."

 

The tall woman nodded, laughing softly.

 

"Can't blame a girl for trying. Hope your girlfriend knows what she's got."

 

With that, she slipped out of the pub.

 

Laura slumped against the bar, head on her arms.

 

She glanced up at the muted TV in the corner of the pub.

 

An old Arsenal game was playing, headlines scrolling underneath the score.

 

_Dutch Royals Meet Queen Carmilla Tomorrow_

Laura sighed, scrambling around under the bar until she found the remote. She clicked off the TV and glanced at the controller in her hand.

 

Without thinking, she pried open the back and took the batteries out.

 

She tucked the remote back where she found it.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

"You're sure it's her?"

 

"I am excellent at my job, ma'am. This is the girl you're looking for." 

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

Carmilla tugged at the wrists on her sleeves, feeling so like she had months ago at her father's funeral. The stitching was too tight, cutting into her wrists, and it made it hard to breathe.

 

"Are you ready, ma'am?"

 

Lola appeared by Carmilla's side, her face serious and formal and adding to Carmilla's unease.

 

Eltja was seconds away from stepping into her home.

 

The woman who had used and thrown Carmilla away like trash.

 

William had decided not to receive them, a move that offended their mother but comforted Carmilla in a way she couldn't express.

 

She couldn't tell her brother why she did what she did, but he somehow still knew, still tried.

 

It made her ache.

 

Lola gently touched Carmilla's arm, calling her back toward the present.

 

Carmilla gave a curt nod, signalling for their guests to be ushered into the room.

 

Then she was there; as blonde and lithe and ethereal as the last time Carmilla had seen her.

 

Carmilla smiled, full and fake and endearing.

 

"Princess Eltja, it is a pleasure to have such an old friend visit."

 

Eltja smiled, sweet and venomous and full of knowledge that Carmilla wished she could take back.

 

"Your majesty," was all Eljta offered.

 

Carmilla could feel her past self buck against the politeness, her twenty-one year old heart screaming, and instead she smiled even wider.

 

"Welcome to Buckingham."

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

_Does Love Strike Twice?_

 

_Queen Carmilla and Princess Eltja Seen Close Along Banks of River Thames_

 

 

 

 

_\--_

 

 

 

 

"Have you seen the newest Mirror? They are definitely back together."

 

"The Daily Mail said they are still arguing in private."

 

"How could they know, if it's in private?"

 

"The staff! And you're telling me there wouldn't be arguments? One of them has to give up their crown and we know it ain't the bloody Queen of England!"

 

Laura shoved through the door to the kitchen, her chest burning.

 

_It's all talk, it means nothing._

_To love her means you share her with the world._

_Mine._

_Mine._

_Mine._

The gossip talk about Carmilla and the Dutch Princess had been incessant for the past two days. Though Laura and Carmilla had texted in the midst of it all, Laura couldn't help but hear the pub talk.

 

"If she don't want her, I'll gladly sign up and show the Dutch what for."

 

"Gimme twenty minutes with both of them and they won't ever want for nothing else."

 

"We all know they are gonna end up together, why all this run around? Just hash it out and be done with it."

 

Laura swallowed as she poured her last pint of the night.

 

"Wilson, the pub is yours. I'm not feeling well."

 

She barely waited for his response before slipping upstairs and hiding in her bed.

 

Within twenty minutes she was showered and hidden in her comforter. She debated calling Carmilla, she hadn't heard her voice in nearly two weeks, but she refrained. Instead she burrowed further into the softness of her blankets.

 

Almost as if her stillness had conjured it, her phone buzzed against her nightstand.

 

Laura swiped it to answer without thinking.

 

"Hello?"

 

“It’s so good to hear your voice.”

 

Laura would have been embarrassed by how she clutched the phone to her ear, had anyone been there to see, but in the comfort of her apartment, tucked in her bed, she let herself cling to Carmilla’s voice through her warbled mobile.

 

“You too,” she offered, catching how Carmilla sighed in relief at the admission. “I miss you.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

The lilt in Carmilla’s voice made Laura ache. She could only hum in response, feeling like a lovesick teenager.

 

“I wish you were next to me.”

 

Carmilla groaned and Laura could picture the way she probably flopped onto her back, dramatic and childish. It made her smile.

 

“I’m going to get to you, this week. I swear it. A week is too long.”

 

“Nine days,” Laura corrected without thinking.

 

Carmilla laughed softly on the other end of the phone.

 

“Glad I’m not the only one who’s counting.”

 

Laura rolled her eyes, embarrassed at the pair of them. It was the first time they had gotten to speak, the rest all being done in frantic texts when Carmilla had time. It was all rather Victorian to Laura’s mind, the pining for someone far beyond reach, sending letters of love and receiving response only when time could allow, but she couldn’t seem to get herself to stop.

 

Especially with that blonde princess flashing across the tabloids, seemingly always so close to Carmilla.

 

It was a topic they seemed to avoid, Laura had noticed.

 

Not that she was dying to hear about  _Princess Eltja_ , Laura would be happy to never hear the woman’s name ever again, but her curiosity was eating away at her. They were so chummy in the public space and Laura knew there was more to it than what the paparazzi were capturing.

 

But she wasn’t sure it was her place to ask.

 

“You think you can manage to sneak away? They have you pretty well booked.”

 

Laura knew the question was leading, but she wanted Carmilla to be the one to broach the subject. She could lead the horse to water, but she couldn’t make it drink – or at least, that’s how the saying went. Laura held her breath as she waited for Carmilla’s response.

 

“I will always find time for you, Laura.”

 

There it was, the pure determination that Carmilla always seemed to have in her voice when it came to them; like she was daring someone to question her, like she was going to prove the world wrong. It usually made Laura’s chest swell, tight and enamoured, but not this time. It felt like avoidance, distance, and ignorant of the underlying fear that had made itself Laura’s constant companion.

 

“You sure your girlfriend won’t mind?”

 

The words fell out and Laura slapped her hand over her mouth.

 

She had not just said that.

 

_She did not just ask that._

 

"Laura-"

 

"No, Carm, I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

 

"Are you home?"

 

Laura stopped before her ramble could even start.

 

"Yes?"

 

There was a pause, the sound of shuffling.

 

Carmilla's voice came back on the line, clearer than before.

 

"Make sure your door is open."

 

Laura couldn't breathe.

 

"It always is for you."

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

"No, god, please don't stop..."

 

Laura was writhing, her hips shoved down as Carmilla's mouth worked against her.

 

They couldn't even make it upstairs.

 

Laura was spread on the floor of the closed bar, her shirt half-off, her pants around her ankles, Carmilla's mouth sucking at her like she needed her to live.

 

Laura's back arched, Carmilla's hand coming to press her hips back down again.

 

She wouldn't let Laura grind against her; Carmilla wanted responsibility for Laura's pleasure and she wanted it to be her's alone.

 

" _Fuck_ ," Laura managed, her hands scrabbling against the bar floor.

 

Carmilla hummed against her clit, rolling her tongue.

 

Laura couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and then she was coming; fast and warm and too soon.

 

"Please, please, please.." Laura whimpered as it washed over her.

 

She didn't know what she was asking for, what she needed.

 

But Carmilla's mouth kept lapping against her and Laura pretended that it was enough.

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

“You are completely mental if you think I’ll keep doing this.”

 

Carmilla knew her voice was too loud, that she was showing too much emotion, she could almost hear her mother berating her for letting so much show, but she was at her wit’s end.

 

Enough was enough.

 

It had been nearly two weeks of Eltja and she knew, _knew_ , she couldn't handle it any longer.

 

She hated how William's face came to her mind. 

 

He'd love being right. 

 

“I will not parade around like some show pony with  _her_  any longer.”

 

Matska seemed nonplussed, examining her cuticles from the uncomfortable couch in Carmilla’s office.

 

“Are you quite finished?”

 

Carmilla whirled to face her, blush flaring on her cheeks.

 

“Carmilla,” Matska started.

 

“Do not address me so informally,” Carmilla childishly snapped.

 

Matska sighed.

 

“Your  _majesty_ , distraction is good. The public, the press, want to focus on you; so give them something to focus on. The more they are looking at you and Princess Eltja, the less they are looking at your brother or your delayed coronation or the Prime Minister or...whatever little pet you might be hiding.”

 

Matska leveled her with a look, one that Carmilla understood meant she knew more than she was letting on, and it made her muscles tighten.

 

Laura.

 

Matska knew about Laura.

 

A piece that meant Carmilla was out played. 

 

If Mastka knew...

 

She could not let the public find Laura.

 

“You think...” Carmilla tried, “my tourist romp with Elle is enough to...hold their focus?”

 

Carmilla couldn’t stop the image of Laura’s face plastered on tabloids and newspapers from her mind. Her pub overrun with paparazzi, her life turned upside down by fame she didn’t ask for. The thought that she could bring that down on her, the Carmilla herself would be responsible, had been niggling her for weeks.

 

If pretending to enjoy Eltja’s visit insured Laura’s anonymity, was it worth it?

 

Matska smiled.

 

“My dear Queen, with what I have planned, it will be enough to erase all past indiscretions that this family has wrought.”

 

Carmilla’s throat tightened at the sly grin that deepened across Matska’s face.

 

 _For Laura,_ Carmilla thought.

 

She could do anything for Laura.

 

“What did you have in mind?”

 

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

 

The door to the pub slammed open and closed, causing Laura's shoulders to pull up around her ears. 

 

"Unless you're the bloody Queen of England, we are closed." 

 

There was silence behind her, until a silken voice came smooth and soft.

 

"I may not be the Queen of England but I'm her mother. I would assume that means I am owed a drink." 

 

Laura whirled around, her eyes wide. 

 

Standing before her, pristine and polished, was the mother of the Queen of England.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE I TOLD Y'ALL I'D UPDATE 
> 
> i mean, it took like over half a year but A GINGER ALWAYS PAYS THEIR DEBTS 
> 
> thank you for sticking with me if you're still around to read this, it means more than you could ever know. you guys have been endlessly kind and understanding so i hope this was an okay next chapter after the fuck of a wait. 
> 
> (ngl the longer the i took the harder this got to post because WHAT IF ITS BEEN TOO LONG AND IT'S SHIT was all i could think so my bad on that) 
> 
> low-key made myself love william though...who would have ever fucking thought? brothers AMIRIGHT
> 
> but thanks again for reading it, i hope you all find $48 in a pocket of your jeans and that someone tells you your hair looks good (it does, btw, are you parting it differently?).

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts? TELL ME. I'm unsure of the chapter count on this story yet but when I know, I'll update the count. Thanks for giving this a read, I appreciate you checking it out!


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